


moonlit blue light

by wintersrose616



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, background Annette/Felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25457365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersrose616/pseuds/wintersrose616
Summary: "My setup is trash." The voice is followed by a laugh, soft and self-deprecating, crackling through Dimitri's headphones as soon as the audio loads. "Another reason why I don't have a face cam. You guys definitely don't want to watch my goofy face lit up only by my screen."Dimitri has no idea why he finds himself so calmed as soon as he hears the voice. The games Fox has played are never ones that he’s ever had a desire to play himself—not that he plays much of anything—but his voice is achingly soothing, familiar in a way that Dimitri can’t place. He’s one of the few things that Dimitri looks forward to when he can’t sleep. It’s almost a given now, with how often Fox is live, that whenever Dimitri wakes up in the middle of the night, terrors filling his dreams, he’s almost always able to watch Fox playing to calm down..Sylvain, in his quest to make the worst life choices he can, streams in the middle of the night, much to his friends’ dismay.Dimitri, on the other hand, has been watching the mysteriousSlyFoxPlaysfor months now.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 76
Kudos: 237





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> mom says it’s my turn with the streamer au

Dimitri wakes in a cold sweat, the feeling of fingers against his throat steadily falling away when he jolts upright in bed. His heart thunders in his chest, breathing uneven and stilted as he tries to stop panting. As he slowly calms down, the wisps of whatever he was dreaming of fall away, leaving him only with fragmented memories of a stormy field, the feeling of dread weighing heavy in his stomach, and the knowledge he will not be getting anymore sleep tonight.

His hands scrub over his face, pushing his hair from his forehead. As soon as his heart slows, he climbs from the bed, making his way to the adjoined bathroom. He doesn’t bother to turn the lights on as he splashes cold water on his face, patting at his neck to clear the sweat away. His sleep shirt is uncomfortable with the cold dampness, and he tugs it off, leaving it on the tiles as he heads back into the bedroom. From his nightstand, he sees the small, flashing blue light from his phone, collecting the device up before he sits back down. His hands unlock it without thinking, forcing him to blink against the brightness before he turns the setting down, his lone, good eye adjusting to the sudden changes quickly.

He has a few text messages, unread emails that he is certain he’ll need to read before he gets into the office for work. The groan that threatens to bubble up when he finally notices the time is barely swallowed down. It’s barely one in the morning.

The pad of Dimitri’s finger swipes the notifications away one by one until his thumb hovers over one from half an hour before. _SlyFoxPlays is live!_ rests in between a text from Felix and a calendar reminder for his eleven o’clock meeting in the morning.

Dimitri sets his phone back on the nightstand, turning on his heels to head out of the bedroom.

His home is relatively bare, despite him moving in as soon as he graduated college years before. He had no desire to move back into his childhood house—the memories of it were too much, too soon, despite how long it had been since the car accident. He has yet to sell it, despite Felix’s insistence he _should_. He has fond memories of it that he thinks one day he’ll be prepared to revisit, but for now, his condo is enough, larger than he thinks he needs, but there’s a guest bedroom and his office.

There’s still nothing truly _him_ about it, though he doesn’t know what he would decorate with if left to his own devices. His pathway to the office is lit by string lights Dedue had picked out when he had first visited, hoping that they would bring some sense of home to the place—and, Dimitri suspects, help guide him at night so he didn’t accidentally bump into any walls.

His desk sits in the corner of the room, covered in paperwork and his laptop. He gathers the laptop up in his arms, pausing to collect his headphones as he goes. As he turns, his elbow catches against the corkboard on the wall next to his scribbled-across whiteboard and he winces when the pictures get rustled, gingerly adjusting where they’re pinned to right them before he heads back to his bed.

He squints against the blue light when it first boots up, adjusting the brightness as he pulls up Fox’s stream, feeling relief bubbling throughout his chest as he settles back against the pillows, plugging his headphones in. Dimitri has no idea if any of the others are as dedicated to a stranger on the internet’s gameplay as he is, but his eye flits over the screen as he tries to gleam what’s all happened since the stream started.

It’s a familiar game, one that Dimitri’s watched Felix play in the rare moments that he’s able to relax at Felix’s flat, but the fighting and combat involved has never been something Dimitri enjoyed, even if there are downtimes of exploration and calming scenery. Fox has only just recently started playing it, a sharp contrast to the prior, zombie-filled game he had been begged to play and lamented about the entire time.

"My setup is trash." The voice is followed by a laugh, soft and self-deprecating, crackling through Dimitri's headphones as soon as the audio loads. "Another reason why I don't have a face cam. You guys definitely don't want to watch my goofy face lit up only by my screen."

Dimitri has no idea why he finds himself so calmed as soon as he hears the voice. The games Fox has played are never ones that he’s ever had a desire to play himself—not that he plays much of anything—but his voice is achingly soothing, familiar in a way that Dimitri can’t place. He’s one of the few things that Dimitri looks forward to when he can’t sleep. It’s almost a given now, with how often Fox is live, that whenever Dimitri wakes up in the middle of the night, terrors filling his dreams, he’s almost always able to watch Fox playing to calm down.

He feels almost a kinship with the streamer. It hadn’t been hard for Dimitri to piece together that wherever Fox was, he was in the same timezone as Dimitri. His accent was the first giveaway—Fox sounds like any of the people that he crossed paths with daily en route to the office—but Fox had officially given his timezone away on one of the first streams Dimitri had watched. _My work throws me for loops, so I have time to stream in the middle of the night and sleep later_ , he had claimed, and Dimitri had just been thankful that he isn’t purposely losing sleep just to play games.

It’s not the first time Dimitri’s prioritized the health of a complete stranger over his own.

Even knowing most of his viewers are halfway across the globe, and probably aren’t used to speaking their language regularly, Fox is still charming, fun to watch even in the midst of Dimitri’s worst nights.

“I literally have a shitty office chair,” Fox continues, and Dimitri can almost imagine his eyes flittering over the chat’s comments as he tries to climb a cliffside in game. “A spinny one, at least, but like—come on, it’s an awful set up, guys.”

Dimitri’s own gaze goes to the chat. He can pick out a few familiar usernames amongst them—there’s not too many people watching for the chat to fly by, everything going at a calming pace as they seem to mostly be discussing the pros and cons of professional gamer chairs. A newer viewer, or a newer commenter, Dimitri thinks, asks if Fox has any soundproofing, and it takes Fox a few moments for his attention to float back from the chat to answer.

“I have a bit of foam on my walls, but only because I stream in the middle of the night and my roommate is on the other side of the wall, sleeping,” he says, still jovial. “But, still—it’s a bad setup. Cannot emphasize that enough. The only thing I’ve really invested in is a decent mic. Just—okay, imagine a shitty Ikea desk, with my laptop on one side for chat, and then an actual monitor for the game. That’s it. It’s bad. You don’t want to see pictures.”

Dimitri snorts at that, not needing to look at the words carefully as the chat bursts, all sorts of protests landing on the screen, pleas and begging just the beginning of it. His eye floats back to the gameplay as Fox notices, a laugh falling from his lips that fills Dimitri with a warmth he feels is undeserved.

“It’s a hard no from me, guys, I’m not taking pictures of my desk. My bed is pushed up next to it. If I stretch my leg out, my foot’s on it.”

Someone states Fox is just too tall in chat and that devolves conversation entirely, Fox encouraging the betting pool happening on just how tall he is. Dimitri’s tempted to add his own guess, but refrains. It’s not the first time he’s just lurked. It had taken him watching three streams to make the account, and only then it was so he’d be immediately notified whenever Fox went live. In the past few months, he’s commented a grand total of two times, always more invested in Fox’s commentary than the actual gameplay itself to have anything to say.

By the time it’s approaching dawn, Fox begins winding down, voice softer than it had been when Dimitri first started watching, low and tired. “Pretty sure the sun’s going to start rising soon, which means I’ll have a total of six hours of peace before all hell breaks loose in my apartment when my roommate leaves and his cat demands I pay him attention.”

Dimitri only deigns to attempt sleep again once Fox has wished them all a good night or morning— _but I really hope no one in the same timezone as I am is watching me, because I’m concerned about your sleep schedules_. Another reason Dimitri hardly comments. He doesn’t think a quick message on a chat will be noticeable enough for Fox to pinpoint they’re in the same time zone, but he’s always been a worrier.

He leaves his laptop next to him on the bed as he curls back under the covers, getting a couple hours of restless sleep by the time his alarm starts going off. Felix has sent him another text that Dimitri reads as he makes his way to the bathroom, a bundle of clothes in his arms. Despite not daring to give himself the title of personal assistant over his actual job title, Felix acts as one at the company, as Rodrigue had done before they had all been able to convince him to retire early. Dimitri knows he wouldn’t be able to handle everything by himself, and despite Felix technically holding a higher up position, none of the actual assistants Dimitri had had worked out for longer than two weeks, despite his best efforts.

Felix has just told him not to be late, and a reminder that he has to read over the spreadsheet in his email before their meeting at eleven. Dimitri thanks him profusely before he gets ready for the day.

He’s hastily attempting to tie his tie as he stumbles out of the bathroom, nowhere close to being late yet, but still anxious. He pauses at the foot of the bed, seeing sunlight filtering in between the small part of the curtains, and thinks back to every other morning he’s had where opening them had filled him with a slight burst of calmness at the sight. He goes to tug them open, orange sun rays filtering in through the small bout of clouds floating lazily in the early morning sky. Dimitri feels his lips twitch in a frown, hoping it won’t rain as he turns back to his bed.

He spots his laptop atop the bed and curses, softly, gathering it up in his arms, tie abandoned half-done around his neck.

He’s going to be late, and he’s never going to hear the end of it.

As he hurries to his office to set his laptop back in its spot, his eye lands on the pictures he had jostled hours before. He had thought he had gotten them all righted properly, but one hangs askew and he feels another furrow to his brow at the sight of it.

There’s not _many_ pictures pinned up. Most of the newer ones he has are just saved on his phone and laptop, only a special couple printed by Ingrid for the gatherings she had deemed _printed photo worthy_. The picture that sits at an angle is one of Dimitri’s most treasured ones, a few years before the car accident, back when he was in high school and everything felt right with the world. He stands on the stone walkway in front of his childhood house, next to Felix, Ingrid, and a redhead that stood taller than them all, his arms draped over Dimitri’s shoulders in the photo, his grin outright infectious, even now.

Sylvain Gautier had been one of their dearest friends, but right before his final year in high school, the Gautier family had packed up and moved, vanishing from their lives altogether. Felix had tried to keep in contact, but by the time they were entering their own third year, all of the texts and emails he had sent had gone ignored, causing the first of many things to happen that caused Felix to shut them all out for most of their college years.

Dimitri rights the photo, gaze lingering on a boyish grin, freckles smattered across a dimpled cheek.

There had been whispers between their parents, ones that none of them were supposed to know. Glenn had always had a hard time telling Felix _no_ , though, so they only knew something had happened with Sylvain’s older brother right before the Gautiers had moved, rumours of a car accident that had cost Sylvain a sports scholarship by breaking his leg.

Dimitri had hoped that _that_ was only a rumour. He still does, to this day. Even more so after the accident that took his family and the sight out of his right eye.

His phone buzzes at him, tugging him out of his spiralling thoughts, and Dimitri’s muttered curse is louder this time as he scrambles out the door.

Dimitri stumbles into the office lobby only a few moments late, his bag in one hand, blazer tucked into his elbow. The receptionist greets him with a smile, and Dimitri hastens to return it, but when his gaze lands on the elevator, he spots a face he was hoping would be upstairs.

Felix stands with his arms crossed, a small frown on his face. He’s forgone a tie today, which Dimitri is only slightly jealous of, but doesn’t have time to dwell on it as he makes his way over, a sheepish smile curling his lips. Felix’s eyes narrow at him as he gets within earshot.

“You look like you didn’t sleep again,” he states.

Dimitri tries for another smile. “Good morning to you, too, Felix.”

Felix’s eyes roll as they head to the elevator together. “Morning,” he drawls, sarcasm dripping from the word. “So, what was it this time? Overworking, or couldn’t sleep?”

“It is nothing to worry about,” Dimitri says, trying for earnest, but obviously falling short.

He’s never been able to fool Felix, and the glare his attempt gets him makes him wish he was smaller as they stand in the elevator together.

“I could not sleep,” he admits, after he averts his gaze. “But I managed a few hours before I had to get up, so I am okay.”

Felix snorts. “Yeah, sure. Just don’t fall asleep in the meeting, and I’ll believe you.”

“I will not fall asleep,” Dimitri says, feeling his face heat. “But I—I still need to read over the paperwork.”

Felix rolls his eyes, _again_ , and heaves a sigh. “Unbelievable.”

**.**

A sliver of sunlight slashes through the small part between the window frame and his curtain, brushing directly across his eyes. Sylvain wakes to the sunbeams, blinking blearily as the light comes and goes in quick waves, the curtain billowing with the air current circulating from his ceiling fan.

He’s sprawled out on his stomach, pillow tugged against him in a tight clutch as drool slowly starts drying on the case. He pushes himself up to an elbow, grumbling as he reaches out, trying to tug the curtain back into place, but the fabric betrays him, still swaying in the air and Sylvain gives up with a groan, dropping his face back down to the pillow for another moment.

After another heavy breath, he sits up, flipping over. Sylvain stretches his arms over his head, rolling his neck, groaning as his joints pop and settle. The bit of sky he can see in the small part of his curtain tells him it’s no earlier than mid-morning, which means Claude should be out in the office, or holed up in his room to work from home. His phone’s half-tucked underneath the pillow he hadn’t been spooning, notification light flashing a bright blue, and he grabs it, yawning. His eyes catch the time—just after nine, which tells him he’s slept more than usual, but definitely not enough by Annette’s standards.

Speaking of Annie, all of his notifications are from her. Three texts, from first light, slowly gaining length as she goes from a simple good morning, to questioning why she had a SlyFoxPlays stream notification from just after midnight, to a four paragraph lecture about how he needs to take better care of himself, and how she better not hear from him before eleven.

Sylvain sends her a heart emoji and tosses his phone back to the pillow. It’s buzzing before it even lands, but he ignores it, climbing from bed and fixing the bedding before he ventures out into the hall.

The cat Hilda had adopted that they had somehow managed to adopt from her is at Claude's door, pawing sadly against it until she spots Sylvain. Sylvain distinctly remembers the day Hilda came over with Isabelle in tow, spending the night, as she is wont to do, and then leaving the next day while the cat stayed behind. Claude treats Izzy like a princess, and she mews when her bright eyes land on him. She trots up to him, rubbing and butting against his legs, her purr loudly rumbling through her fluff. He can hear Claude from his room, his serious talk voice floating into the hall, telling Sylvain easily he’s already in a video call for work and probably hadn’t bothered to put real pants on due to it.

There’s a distinct lack of coffee scent from the kitchen, and Sylvain heads there after bending to pet Izzy to get the machine started before slinking back to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

He takes a decently long shower, letting the hot water undo some of the tension in his neck and shoulders from hunching at his desk for four hours in the middle of the night. He should probably listen to some of the advice he gets about getting a chair with proper back support, but he’s still not certain he wants to pay that much for a one

When Sylvain’s dressed and feeling marginally more like a human being, Claude’s wrapping up his meeting, and the smell of coffee is a welcoming aroma in the air household.

It’s been a routine he and Claude have perfected over the past four years. Their apartments have changed—this one decidedly nicer, ever since Claude took over his grandfather’s business and could class them up in one of the luxury flats in the nicer part of the city—but it’s been a steady routine ever since Claude had been forced out of the dorms his second year of college and Sylvain’s lease was up at his shitty studio. They’ve known each other for nearly six years, ever since Claude stumbled into an 8AM lecture on his first day at the university and slammed into the seat next to Sylvain.

Sylvain’s mostly through making breakfast, three mugs of coffee in, when Claude meanders into the kitchen, hair perfectly coiffed, styled to match the pressed shirt and tie he wears. It’s the joggers underneath them that has Sylvain snorting.

“Well, don’t you look _lovely_ , today,” he drawls, quirking a brow as he lets his eyes slowly track the length of him when Claude bends to scoop Izzy into his arms and kiss her on the head before letting her go.

“Says the man who was up until four in the morning _streaming,”_ Claude quips, shimmying around to grab a mug from the cupboard. His eyes are sharp as they look over Sylvain, assessing if he looks like he’s gotten enough sleep or not. Sylvain’s dealt with him manhandling him back to his bedroom to sleep more after streaming nights, but Claude must deem him awake enough, because he just grabs the carafe and pours himself some coffee. “Annette yelled at _me_ for it, as if I encouraged it.”

“Oh—.” Sylvain’s phone is still in the bedroom. Now he’s afraid to go check to see what havoc Annette’s left in the groupchat. He drops his gaze back to the pancake currently cooking in the pan, using it as an excuse to not look Claude in the eyes. “Annie loves me, though, she’ll forgive me.”

Claude leans into his field of vision to snag a piece of bacon from the plate next to the pancakes, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

“Aw, are _you_ mad at me, too?”

“I think you need to sleep more,” Claude says breezily, “but I’m not mad.”

Sylvain snorts. “Good, then I _will_ share breakfast with you.”

“When are you supposed to be at work?”

“Mercedes wants me in at noon today to cover the midday rush with Annette,” he says. “She should be there, too.”

“Will you bring me treats?”

“Maybe.”

Claude pouts at that, one that has Sylvain snickering as he bumps him out of the way so he can add the pancake to the stack on its plate. There's only enough batter left for one, and Claude eyes the stack as if debating snatching one up before it's all ready, but Sylvain distracts him.

“Depending on what Mercie’s heard, she might be mad at me, too, so _I_ might not get any treats.”

“But what if you tell her they’re for _me?_ ” Claude asks. “She won’t have any reason to be mad at me, right?”

“Annette and she both are in the opinion you enable my bad behaviour,” Sylvain declares, triumphantly flipping the cake in the pan.

Claude huffs, letting out a petulant whine. “Well, that isn’t fair.”

Sylvain hums, ignoring him as he finishes depositing the last pancake on the stack. Claude's eyes are narrowed, assessing him as he moves about to collect plates for them to eat off of. Claude _graciously_ dishes them up, but Sylvain takes an extra piece of bacon from his plate in retaliation for his pre-breakfast snacking before they settle at the island to eat, Izzy leaping up twice before she settles when Claude sets her back on the floor so they can eat in peace without her getting syrup in her fur. Sylvain let's her sniff at a piece of bacon, which she turns her nose up at before trotting off to her water fountain.

“I shouldn’t be punished unfairly for your choices." Claude's statement comes as a continuation, as if they haven't branched topics and are discussing something important, not just Mercedes cutting him off from free pastries. “You’re your own person.”

“I think they’re in the belief that I’m one step away from being a housewife for you,” says Sylvain.

Claude lifts an eyebrow, leaning forward to cup his chin in palm. “Why, _Mr_ _Gautier,”_ he purrs, “if that’s a proposal, I accept.”

Sylvain’s laugh gets caught on the bite of pancake in his mouth, and he shoves at Claude’s shoulder as he dissolves into snickers, while Sylvain hastily drains the last of his coffee to wash it down.

“What would Hilda say if you and I got married?”

Claude shrugs, still smiling, eyes bright and twinkling with the promise of mischief. “I don’t think she’d mind—she doesn’t like doing dishes either.”

“You’re both monsters, and I can’t believe I love you two.”

Claude’s smirk tells him more than he wants to know of what he thinks about that. Sylvain just rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

They finish breakfast in relative peace, despite Isabelle’s best efforts to crawl _onto_ Sylvain’s plate, and by the time their dishes are washed—by Sylvain—he’s got an hour to get ready for work. He leaves his phone alone, ignoring the notification light as he dresses.

Sylvain swipes his messages away instead of reading his texts as he slips his shoes on. Claude’s in another meeting when he slips out the front door, Izzy's sad meows at being abandoned following him into the hall.

His walk from the apartment to Mercedes’ small bakery is always quick. On the eastern side of the city, they deal with more small businesses than the office skyscrapers across town, but the streets are still always congested with traffic and people. Sylvain knows the route to the bakery like the back of his hand; he had been one of Mercedes’ first employees, accepted on a whim the day after his parents officially cut him off when he decided to pursue his own career outside of his father’s business.

It’s one of the main reasons he’s _still_ there, a degree in art history tucked under his belt and mostly useless for bakery management. Mercedes doesn’t mind, though, even if Sylvain can’t see a reason for her to keep him around. He’s at least useful to Claude chore-wise, but he can’t fathom Mercedes having a surefire reason other than keeping someone else who’s been there from the start on hand.

The door to the bakery is lined with carefully manicured ivy, giving the small brick building an even older aesthetic than it would have otherwise. Mercedes’ handwritten chalk sign of the day rests on the sidewalk just outside the walkway, proclaiming their _new mini raspberry tarts_! with a tiny, adorable drawing underneath it. Sylvain snags a picture of it for the bakery’s socials, before he slips through the door.

It’s quiet, only a few patrons in the seats that line the walls. Ashe is behind the counter, and he waves as Sylvain walks through, heading into the back. Mercedes is sitting in her office, a small stitch to her brow as she looks over some papers. She doesn’t even look up, and Sylvain’s mouth is halfway open, a greeting on his tongue, but she speaks before he can.

“Annette has informed me I’m supposed to be mad at you.”

“I answered her texts!” Sylvain protests.

The furrow vanishes as Mercedes looks up, her lips curling in a gentle smile that fills Sylvain’s stomach with dread.

“Did you?”

Mercie’s gentle smile stays on her face, eyes unsympathetic. Sylvain forces himself to look away, setting his bag on the small lounge sofa in the office’s corner.

“Most of them,” he admits.

"You shouldn't have been up as late as you were, Sylvain."

"I'm twenty-six, Mercedes, I can handle myself."

"If you say so,” she says, humming. She lifts up the papers she’s holding before Sylvain can open his mouth to protest. “Will you help me with this? I’m not sure if the way I’ve written this recipe makes sense. I think I’ve forgotten to write down a few steps.”

Sylvain helps Mercedes right her recipes before he slips out to the front of the shop, snagging an apron as he slips behind the counter. Ashe beams at him in greeting, only pausing for a moment before launching into talk about the game Sylvain’s been streaming.

“I watched last night! You’re making such good progress!”

Sylvain narrows his eyes. It’s not unusual for Ashe to watch his streams—but he’s not thrilled at the idea of him watching them in the middle of the night live, instead of waiting to watch the video later on.

“How long did you watch?”

Ashe’s mouth opens as pale pink spots high on his cheekbones. “Oh, you know, not _that_ long!”

“Uh huh.”

“I think I’m actually going to go to break!” Ashe says.

“Hey, don’t run _away—”_ Ashe slips around him, and Sylvain huffs, calling after him before he can disappear through the swing door. “You’re telling Annie you were up that late when you were here for open!”

 _“No, I’m_ _not_!” 

The door swings back, not as effective as a slamming door, but it’s a blow regardless. He spends most of his shift charming his way into filling the tip jar, letting Ashe skim most of it when he leaves two hours in.

Mercedes appears moments after Sylvain's been left alone, retying her apron as Sylvain finishes passing a treat off to a customer. When he looks to her, she looks mildly worried.

"What's wrong?"

"Annie's going to be late."

Sylvain feels his own frown deepen. "Is she okay?"

"She sounded frantic, but assured me she was." Mercedes hums, pressing her fist to her chin in thought. "I don't know why, but she said she'll be here soon."

Sylvain wishes she hadn't told him at all, instead of that vague answer. Annette being late wasn't all that unusual, but knowing she had sounded _frantic_ made him itch to take Mercedes' car and go find her.

In the half hour they wait for her arrival, Mercedes handles the customers while Sylvain tries his hardest not to frown too much, eyes staying locked on the windows. When Annette does appear, she's sprinting, hair billowing out behind her, and Sylvain's moving before he can think, just getting around the corner when Annette bursts in, the door slamming open.

Her cheeks are flushed, hand flat against the glass to hold the door open. Her hair frizzes around her in windswept waves, but her eyes are filled with pure determination.

"I have a _date!"_ she declares.

The bakery goes silent. Annette straightens, realizing she's just shouted the news in front of five strangers. She squeaks and runs in, brushing by Sylvain to hurry into the back.

"Be nice, Sylvain," Mercedes calls, and Sylvain gives her a thumbs up as he hurries to follow Annette.

"You have a date?" he questions, as she rushes to hang her bag up beside Mercie's purse.

Annette nods, blushing furiously. "It's tomorrow night," she says. "I'm really excited!”

"Who's the lucky person?"

Annette's mouth opens, then snaps close, and she shakes her head. "I can't tell you."

"What?" Sylvain's never felt so offended so quickly. "Why not?"

"Well, first of all, I'm still mad at you, and second, you'll try to do a background check—"

"I'm not Claude—"

 _"—or,"_ she continues, pinning him with a look, "you'll ask Claude to do a background check"

He frowns, lips pressing together. She's not wrong. "Hm."

"I don't need you mother henning me over this," she says. "I really like him, and we've been talking for a while, but he finally asked me on an official date." She talks while she presses her hands against her hair, smoothing the frizz, and when she's deemed herself presentable, she turns to him with a smile. "You _can_ come over and help me get ready tomorrow, though."

His eyes narrow. “You’ll tell me about him then?”

Annette tilts her head, tapping her chin. Sylvain’s about to ask her, _again,_ but Mercie calls for them from the counter, and they’re summoned away from the back. He tells her as they’re slipping back into the storefront that they’re not done talking about it—but Annette gives him a pointed look.

“Like we’re not done talking about your bad sleeping habits?”

His mouth opens, closes, opens again. “Fine. You win.”

She beams, bright and happy. “Always do!”

**.**

When Dimitri’s mouth opens, a new apology on his lips, Felix’s glare makes his jaw shut with a clack. A sheepish embarrassment still fills his face with heat as they walk side by side to the parking garage. It hadn’t been the plan to work as late as they had, but with extra paperwork piled up, Dimitri had decided he could handle it, which meant Felix pacing his office, a stack of files clenched in his fists, they worked through it together.

Which also means that it’s late enough that Felix has opted to offer Dimitri a ride home, instead of him walking.

Their conversation as they make their way from the elevator across the parking garage is simple, when Dimitri isn’t apologizing for inconveniencing Felix. He asks after Glenn and his boyfriend, asks if Rodrigue is _truly_ relaxing on his newest getaway that his retirement affords him.

By the time they reach Felix’s car, Dimitri knows the drive to his flat will mostly be quiet—contemplative but hopefully not as awkward as it would have been years before. Dimitri knows out of habit to go directly to the passenger side door, but Felix pauses at the back of the car. When Dimitri looks to him, he’s staring down at the bumper with a pinch to his brow, a sour little twist to his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to take a picture of my car.”

Dimitri’s own brow furrows as he steps away from the door to circle towards the back. “You. . .what?”

“It’s a thing,” Felix snaps, tone defensive, which just further confuses Dimitri. “You take pictures of your license plate for them to send to their friends.”

“Felix, I have no idea what we’re talking about.”

Felix makes a strangled, embarrassed sound. “I have a date tomorrow night.”

Dimitri startles. “You what?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Felix says, though his face is red and betrays him. “It’s with that girl I’ve been talking to for a while.”

Dimitri blinks at him, wracking his brain, before— “Oh! The singer?”

“Yes.” Felix grits his teeth and pulls his phone out, taking a picture of his license plate.

Dimitri watches, still baffled, trying to piece together where he’s going with this.

He only knows Felix met Annette at an early morning, open mic at a cafe. He had been late to work that day because he had sat through her entire set, only informing Dimitri afterwards when he was halfway to panicking when his texts and phone calls had gone ignored.

“Annette will be able to send this to her friends,” Felix continues, thumbs furiously tapping at his screen as he sends a text.

“Why do her friends need your license plate?” Dimitri asks.

“That's what people do when they go on dates, Dimitri. I looked it up. They tell their friends so they know where they're at. Or—well, that's what she's going to do, which makes more sense. Whatever. I'm just—“

“Oh! No, that's right! I will keep my phone on me. If you need me, just let me know!”

Felix rolls his eyes, huffing a tiny breath. “Yeah, so you can call me a cab?” He shakes his head. “Never mind. Thanks. Just get in the damn car.”

The drive back to Dimitri’s is spent quietly. Felix informs him he asked Annette out that morning, in a frantic phone call he had made before they went to their first meeting of the day. Dimitri _had_ noticed Felix looked on edge, but had just chalked it up to thrk, not outside forces.

He’s happy for him, and when Dimitri tells him as such, Felix just scoffs, face reddening.

By the time he’s unlocking his door, it’s late, and he’s hungry. There’s takeout leftovers in the fridge that he heats up as he goes through his usual _back home from work_ routine. It mostly consists of dumping everything in his office and changing clothes, but tonight’s routine gets changed by the fact that his pile of dirty clothes is far too large in the bathroom.

He shovels forkfuls of noodles in his mouth as his laundry washes, attention not straying far from his phone. He doesn’t have a lot of social media—Glenn and Felix both had told him that it might not be smart for him to be in the public eye, and Dimitri truly doesn’t want to be, so the few that he has are private. He goes through some new posts from Ingrid before he searches out Fox’s main social sites to see if he’s planning on streaming tonight. A new post pops up as soon as Dimitri clicks on his page: _Let’s go treasure hunting tonight!! I’ll be live in an hour!_

Dimitri goes through the mundane chore list he compiles as he waits, anxiously refreshing his laptop’s page as the time draws closer. Fox posts that he’s going live when Dimitri’s gathered his freshly dried clothes. He gets his laptop set up on the bed next to him, dumping the clothes out to fold them, the task dreadful, but necessary.

He’s at least thankful he has something entertaining to keep him company as he folds.

It never ceases to amaze him how quickly he grows enraptured with the gameplay whenever Fox is the one playing. He knows Fox is taking his time, going off on branches instead of following the game’s main quest, but he had never promised a quick and fast stream for this game.

Dimitri’s eye flits to chat from time to time. There’s not too many people watching—less than one hundred, fewer participating in chat. The usernames that pop up are familiar, hardly any asking questions directly to Fox, but the ones he does answer are almost always done immediately, post lag.

Fox spends nearly an hour exploring varying ruins in one corner of the map, the promise of riches seeming to be second to him actually going through the decrepit buildings in game. He apologizes a few times, stating he’s a history buff and loves this stuff more than anything else in game. 

“Except for maybe the dragons,” Fox says, and Dimitri can almost hear his grin. “I’m never going to forget the first time I saw that fire one.”

Dimitri remembers that stream, too. Felix hadn’t reached the dragons in his own game yet by the time he first saw one in Fox’s stream. It was a mesmerizing experience, even just watching someone else play the game. Fox had gone absolutely silent, watching enraptured for a few moments before he seemed to have remembered he was streaming and declared he was going to attempt to ride it.

The fire burns his character had to endure during that ordeal were, in Fox’s words, _completely worth it._

Dimitri’s clothes have long since been abandoned, most of them folded in piles on the bed, the rest laying in a lump as he just settles back with his computer. He watches as a new question pops up in chat: _why are you only doing sidequests?????_

It takes Fox a few moments to get the question, and some of the viewers try to answer for him with asinine and outlandish reasons varying from a desire to one hundred percent complete the game or the need to scope out every inch of the map.

When Fox answers, his voice is light, lilting. "Why am I doing side quests? Uh, _duh,_ I'm bad at video games."

A bold lie to anyone who's ever watched Fox's streams, that has Dimitri frowning. Self-deprecating jokes aside, Fox is one of the most competent players Dimitri's seen. Even when he's sat with Felix, watching him play the exact same game, there are puzzles that stump him that Fox figured out almost immediately after a quick glance.

“Plus, who _doesn’t_ want a sidequest that could make me rich?” Fox continues.

It takes a few more moments for him to reach the destined lake, chalked full of sunken treasure chests that has the gamer making quips about everything he could buy once he got to them all.

“Though, let’s be real, I’m blowing all of this on arrows,” he declares, right before the music changes. There’s a few moments of him swinging the camera around in game, humming under his breath. "Okay, I _hear_ the dragon music but I see no dragon. What’s happening, where is it?”

He’s still moving the camera around, only with brief pauses in between the swift movements that Dimitri’s mind tells him is Fox looking at the chat for help. He hesitates for a few moments, hands moving towards his keyboard. He knows a few things about the game, from watching Felix, but he’s still no expert. He’s not sure if his comment will be taken as a snobby one, but he feels like Fox might appreciate it. Dimitri’s still frowning, and it takes him a moment to get over the apprehension as he types a message out: _Don't they spawn at the lake?_

A hum answers a few moments later as Fox goes back to rifling through the water, calling him by his username. "I don't think it'll actually emerge from the lake, Tempest Lion, but you—aw _shit!"_

Dimitri can't stop his chuckle as the dragon appears on the screen, right next to Fox’s character—far too close to do anything but electrocute him. Fox makes a few garbled sounds before laughing at himself as he hurries to heal himself and watch as the dragon disappears into the water.

"I should not have doubted you, little lion," Fox says, and the nickname makes Dimitri's face fill with heat despite the circumstances. "But that's wild that they just appear from the water." As the last of the dragon's tail disappears, Fox hums again. "Okay, bye, bye, darling, now back _to—shit,_ are you kidding?"

As soon as the dragon's tail disappears, the head emerges from the water, once more sending an electric shock against him.

"I am not going to die because of this," Fox declares, still sounding amused more than anything as the dragon—slowly—flies off, sending small electric attacks that take only a bit of his health. As soon as it's completely out of view, he laughs again, and Dimitri feels warm. "Yeah, okay, see you later." A snort as he swings the camera around. "It's going to show up behind me again in three seconds to shock the shit out of me again.”

The dragon does not, in fact, appear again. Fox is able to collect his riches, sell them all off to buy more arrows from one of the markets in game, and ends the stream with promises to stream the following night, too.

Dimitri is still sitting in bed with a pile of clean laundry by the time Fox has officially gone offline. It takes him a few moments to gather everything, depositing the clothes gently in the hamper to put away later, and he falls asleep to a dream of a warmed, honeyed voice calling him _lion._

**.**

Sylvain sits on Annette’s bed as she moves in and out of her closet in a flurry of fabric and movement, collecting any type of clothing she owns that could be deemed date worthy clutched in her hands as she stops in front of her floor length mirror.

Mercedes is busy; Hilda’s fashion sense terrifies her. That leaves Sylvain, who hasn’t gone on even what he deemed a date in months, to help her pick out the best outfit. It’s not an easy task, since he’s not even been allowed to know the guy’s name, let alone where they’re going, but Annette’s insistent.

So, Sylvain's left in his sweatshirt and jeans, watching Annie’s curled hair bounce around her face as she holds different pieces up to herself, frown, then rush back into the closet to grab something else.

It’s not the worst Friday night he’s ever had, he decides.

"Okay,” he drawls, when Annette’s burst out again, “why am I not allowed to know this guy's information?"

"Because you'll be weird about it!" Annette says, holding two different dresses up to herself. "Mercie knows everything! He even texted me a picture of his license plate to send her!"

Sylvain _hmm_ s, leaning back on his palms. "I would double check that it matches when he picks you up."

Annette's lips puff out in a pout as she whirls to glare at him. "I already planned to." She turns, discarding the dresses and going for two more. "He's. . .well. He isn't _sweet_ , but he's caring and hardworking!"

"Not sweet," Sylvain echoes, brows furrowing. He twists on the bed to collect the stuffed shark Annette leaves on top of her sheets to hold to his chest as he looks back to her. "So, where's he work?"

"In an office on the other side of the city." She pins him with another glare. "And that is all I'm telling you."

"I don't even get to know his name?"

"Nope! We’ve gone over this! Because if I tell you, you, like Claude, will try to run a background check on him."

"Hmm." Sylvain crosses his arms over his chest. His plan to text Claude with the information goes out the window as Annette tosses her newest choices aside and a pile of knit cotton hits him in the face as she throws the maxi dress at him. He pushes it off, still holding her stuffed animal to her chest. “What time are you going to be back?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” she admits. “It’s dinner and a movie night, so. . . “ She trails off, shrugging. “He’s not going to try to do anything more than kiss me, I think, so I should be back before midnight.”

“‘Should,’” Sylvain repeats. “I’ll be one text away, you know that, right?”

Annette smiles, her eyes softening as she looks over her shoulder at him. “I know.”

“Good. So, his name—“

“Alright, you can go.” Sylvain huffs a laugh as she drops her dresses on the bed and pushes at his shoulders. “Give me Beastie and leave.”

“Beastie loves me and you know it.”

Despite her best efforts, Annette smiles. “He loves me more.” She takes the shark from him, tossing it over his shoulders to land on the bed, bouncing against the pillows. “C’mon, you’re _supposed_ to be giving me opinions! Instead of sitting there judging my partner choices!”

“How can i judge someone I don’t even know?” Sylvain asks. He looks over the newest dresses she’s whipped out and helps her pick one out, then helps her into it when she can’t get the zip on the back up all the way. He leaves her with the promise he be texted as soon as she’s picked up, and every hour—just in case the date does go long, he’ll know she’s safe. She makes him promise not to stream past two in the morning tonight, and Sylvain leaves her apartment with a deal on his lips.

He’s already had plans to go live early, anyway.

Claude’s out when he returns to their flat, based on the way Izzy sits forlornly at the door, acting as if she’s been abandoned for a thousand years. Sylvain reaches down, scooping her up before she can get too far, and her meows of protest are ignored as Sylvain presses a flurry of kisses to her head before getting a paw smacked against his face.

He lets her down with a laugh. “I’m going to be streaming early tonight, Iz, so you’ve gotta be by yourself for a bit.”

She meows, staring directly at him, before she turns to head off towards the cupboard her treats are stashed in. Sylvain watches with amusement as she plants herself directly down next to it, waiting until she meows again before he relents to giving her a few treats. Appeased for the moment, Izzy happily trots off to go nap in seclusion while Sylvain heads to his room. There’s not much prep he needs to do for a stream, but there’s still enough that he settles in his chair to get everything ready, waiting semi-patiently for Annette’s texts. He’s barely turned his computer on when his phone buzzes.

**Annie** the license plates match the pic he sent me!

**Me** great! now can I know his name?

**Annie** nope!!

He sends her a thumbs down emoji, which doesn’t get him a response. He rolls his eyes, sets his phone on the desk next to his keyboard, and gets everything ready. As soon as he’s certain, he sends a quick message out announcing he’s live, before he slips his headphones on and turns on his mic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to what will hopefully not end up being more than 30k. 
> 
> hopefully by dividing it up, it’ll be less overwhelming than what I normally post. I’ve been messing/fretting over how I wanted to post this for days over on my [twitter.](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616)
> 
> anyway, just a heads up that the rating for this is going to change at chapter three to explicit, even though I have no idea when I’ll post that one. 
> 
> also, if it wasn’t obvious, Sylvain’s playing whatever modern day Fódlan‘s equivalent is of botw.


	2. two

Dimitri’s desk is covered in papers and spreadsheets. There’s a few broken pens scattered about on top of it, ink staining some pages. He sits with one hand against his forehead, a frown certainly aiding the headache pulsing between his temples. 

He had assured Felix he would be fine working on his own, at home, so that he could enjoy his date. Dimitri only has a few regrets at his declaration. It’s just past eight. He’s been working since he got home two hours ago. He should’ve had it done long before now, but it’s been a struggle. He’s a mess. Nothing that he’s looked up helps calm him, or helps get his focus back. The numbers and words have just all mashed together into a blur. 

He’s just broken another pen, clicking it too hard, when his phone pops up with a new notification. At first, he thinks it’s just another email, but when he sees _SlyFoxPlays_ _is live_ he almost throws the pen aside in his haste to get his laptop unburied from the pile of papers on top of it.

He opens a new tab, the page automatically going to Fox’s stream page. He’s live, but not fully prepared for the stream, it appears. The little viewer count in the corner indicates one, and Dimitri feels his face burn ridiculously at the idea that, for now, it's only him and Fox.

It's obvious Fox hasn't seen anyone's joined yet, humming softly under his breath, muttering a bit as he adjusts his mic and settings, and then there's, "Okay! I'm pretty sure I'm still alone so! What is _up,_ non-existent gamer—oh, wait. Shit." He laughs, bright and happy. "Fuck, of course someone's here to have seen that. Normally everyone who's first blows up chat, so I didn't even notice." A small pause, before he questions, voice heavy with flirtatious charm, "Aw, are you shy?"

Dimitri hesitates. He can count on one hand how many times he’s sent messages in the chat before yesterday. He’s hardly ever interacted, but Fox calling him _lion_ echoes through his head, warming his face. His fingers move over the keys before he can second guess himself.

_Only a little._

Fox has gone back to fiddling with menu settings, but it's obvious as soon as he sees Dimitri's message. "Oh, it's _you_!" He sounds delighted, which baffles Dimitri to no end. Out of all his regular viewers, Dimitri can’t fathom why _he_ would matter, but Fox continues to speak. "Let’s try not to get electrocuted by dragons tonight. How's that sound?"

Dimitri types, _Ideal_. He waits another moment, checking to make sure that the viewer count is still just him, before asking _Isn't this an early night for you?_

Fox hums, softly, the sound crackling in Dimitri's ears. "A little bit, but my friend has a date tonight and I promised her I would stay up until she sends me her 'safe at home' text and I feel like I'd nap if I wasn't doing anything, so I decided streaming was best."

He frowns. Was that a thing? Should he text Felix, requesting one, too? All Felix had told him before they left the office was that he was going to pick Annette up around eight. He wasn’t expecting to hear from him unless things went disastrous, but now he's worried.

He doesn't get a chance to question Fox if it's normal or not. More viewers slowly start trickling in, the count clicking higher and higher and Dimitri growing more and more embarrassed at the fact that he's _jealous_. As soon as Fox sees the viewership is up, he goes through his normal introductions while Dimitri reaches for his phone. 

He sends Dedue a text and then follows it up immediately after when he sees the time. It’s far too late to be bothering him, but he hadn’t even thought about it. 

  
  


**Me** I think I have a problem.

Oh, it’s so late. I’m terribly sorry to have texted you. 

Everything’s okay!

  
  


**Dedue Molinaro** What's wrong?

  
  


**Me** It's nothing dire! 

Please, go back to your evening.

  
  


**Dedue Molinaro** It's only eight, Dimitri. Should I call?

**Me** Not necessary! I'll explain later. 

My apologies, again. Please, rest well!

  
  
  


He's just hit send when Fox's voice sounds warm in his ears out of his monotone intro, cheerful and bright as he announces, "I've promised my lion we're _not_ going to hunt dragons tonight, so I figured we'd do part of the main quest instead."

_My lion_ sends his heart stuttering, even though it shouldn't. It’s a ridiculous situation he’s put himself in, developing a crush on a stranger he’s never seen the face of, will never meet in person. The only true interactions he’s had with him being him answering questions Dimitri’s typed up and sent into the void with a hope he’d see. 

He’s the biggest fool he’s ever met, and yet even knowing that, when Fox laughs at something in game, Dimitri feels his heart soar.

  
  
  


**.**

  
  


“It’s been three weeks,” Sylvain states. “You’re calling him your _boyfriend_.”

“He is my boyfriend,” Annette says, breezily. She’s happy—bright and beaming—but it does nothing to stop Sylvain’s eyes narrowing.

“Cool. Great. Everyone knows his name except for me.”

“Well, that’s not true! I haven’t told Hilda, Claude, _or_ you.”

“Not helpful.”

“I just don’t want you going into _Protective Mom Mode_.”

The bakery’s mostly quiet, the morning still early enough that hardly anyone’s popped their heads inside for fresh treats. The only patron in the shop sits in the corner, nursing a black coffee alongside some berry tartlets, headphones in their ears and blasting music loud enough that Sylvain can hear the muffled noises even from the counter.

It leaves him and Annie to talk freely—though the conversation has once again devolved into her withholding what has to be _vital_ information. The others in their friend group have been sworn to secrecy on not even mentioning Annette’s boyfriend around him, and Sylvain’s feelings of betrayal have blossomed with each passing day. Even _Dorothea_ knows, and she truly only hangs out with them at karaoke night.

He knows Annette’s doing it for laughs more than anything else now, but he’s _cranky_. He had streamed longer than he had planned, trying his hardest to beat a boss before calling it quits, one that he discovered his usual method of sneak attacks wouldn’t work on. The sun had risen almost completely by the time he fell face first into his pillow, his alarm promising him a meager two hours of sleep before he had to get up to get to work on time. 

Isabelle screaming for breakfast half an hour after he attempted to sleep had done nothing to help.

Annette’s still standing in front of the register, idly fussing with the tip jar’s paper mache flowers and the small sign she and Mercie had doodled across. Sylvain leans back against the far counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest as the coffee machine splutters to life at his elbow, overriding the sweet scent of vanilla and butter from the pastries with the smooth, rich scent of the fresh brew that Sylvain wishes he could tip back five cups of. Instead, he just pins the back of Annie’s head with a heavy look she’s content to ignore with her minute adjustments to the countertop’s layout.

“I’ll show you pictures of his cat, if you want!” she offers, finally deeming the jar in a suitable spot half an inch away from its original position. “He’s adorable. _His_ name is Peppermint.”

“I don’t care about the cat’s name, Annie, I’d rather know the guy’s name so I know if he’s going to end up hurting you.”

Annette levels him with a look. “He won’t, Sylvain, I know it. Here, look.” 

She pulls her phone out of her apron’s pocket, shielding the screen with her free hand so Sylvain can’t sneak a peek before she’s pulled up the right photo. After humming as she swipes through, she finds one, holding her phone up to him. Sylvain just holds eye contact with her, ignoring the device in his face.

“Izzy’s prettier,” he states, barely looking at the photo. 

Annette makes a noise, her free hand balling into a fist. “Stop being a prick, Sylvain!” 

“Sorry, can’t.” He gives her a smile, pairing it with a wink as he tosses his head. “We all know I’m the asshole here.” 

“Stop that, you are not! You’re just being a jerk right now!”

“Same thing, really,” he argues, but Annette shoves the phone up into his face.

“His cat is cute—look at his little face!” 

Sylvain looks at the cat. He’s completely black except for a white patch beneath his nose that looks like a mustache. 

Peppermint is _adorable_.

He scowls. “Izzy’s prettier.” 

Annette rolls her eyes. “This is why I’m not telling you his name.” 

“Hmph.” 

Annette huffs a breath, but before she can say any more, Mercedes appears from the back, a burst of vanilla following her. There’s flour smudged against her cheekbone, and Sylvain reaches for a napkin to clean it off for her.

“Oh, thank you.” Her eyes dart between them, before landing on Sylvain. “Are you still crabby, Sylvain?”

“ _Crabby?_ ”

“Yes!” Annette exclaims, speaking over him. “He’s so cranky today, Mercie, I _told_ him staying up as late as he did was a bad choice!”

“Hmm.” Mercedes nods idly, before her gaze lands on him, smile still serene and dreamy. “Go home early.”

“What?” Sylvain shakes his head. “No, I’m _fine_ —“

“It’s a slow day,” Mercedes says. She rests her hand gently against his bicep, squeezing lightly. “Go home and take a nap.”

His mouth opens, prepared to argue about not abandoning them, but she squeezes his arm just a _smidge_ tighter, the smile on her face sharpening just a bit to tell him if he argued, it’d be pointless. He relents with a sigh. 

“Fine.”

“Good. Get home safe, and get some sleep.”

There’s still a bite in the air as he heads home from the bakery. The sun’s shining overhead, but the air around him is crisp, the lingering scent of last night’s rain still clinging to the plant life he passes. Mostly everyone he walks by is en route to start their day; Sylvain brushes by people in suits, bags and briefcases clutched in hand, some chattering away on cell phones. 

The sound of the city never truly dies down, but in brief moments like this, he almost feels like it could be quiet. Everything turns muddled, his thoughts narrowing down on how nice it feels to be outside with the sun on his face. 

He feels slightly more human by the time he walks through the front door. Izzy’s loafing, awaiting either his or Claude’s return. She deigns him worthy of a quick scritch, but runs off before Sylvain can scoop her up to kiss her. 

Sylvain washes his face before he changes into a pair of sweats. He crawls into bed, leaving the door only open a bit. He’s just pulled the covers up when he hears it creak open. Izzy’s paws patter lightly across the floor before she leaps up, curling herself up against the small of his back. Sylvain reaches around to give her an awkward pat before settling back down. 

He wakes to the sound of Izzy _mrrp_ ing, the weight of her on his collarbone almost close to suffocating him. Her claws dig into his skin as she starts to knead, purr rumbling through her fluff to aid her in the chance to smother him to death. Sylvain’s eyes blearily open just in time to see Claude appear in his field of vision.

“Izzy, you can’t kill your father,” Claude whispers, his fingers gingerly brushing against Sylvain as he picks her up.

If he hadn’t been awake already, Isabelle’s loud protest meow would’ve startled him out of the deepest sleep. He sighs, lifting a hand to rub against his eyes as Claude chuckles.

“Ah, you _are_ awake.”

“Wish I wasn’t,” Sylvain mumbles. “It’s late if you’re home, though.”

“It’s five-thirty.”

“ _Sothis_.” Sylvain pushes himself up onto his elbows. Claude’s bouncing Izzy in his arms, ignoring her paws batting at him. “I got home at eleven.”

Claude snorts a laugh. “Well, we can officially tell Annie you’ve caught up on sleep.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes, shifting to swing his legs over the bed edge. “I feel disgusting, I’ve got to shower.”

“Go do that—I’ll plan takeout for dinner.”

Sylvain grumbles an affirmation, stretching as he stands up. Claude disappears out into the hallway, where the bright light of the evening sun pools in the doorway of his bedroom. He stretches over the bed to tug his curtains aside, letting the rays land on the bed as he tidies it up before heading to the bathroom.

Once he’s showered, and Claude tells him dinner’s on its way, he feels better. Less obtuse and cranky, at least. He sends Annie an apology, which is answered by three heart emojis. He finds Claude and Izzy spooning on the couch, a shitty thriller movie on the TV and he flops into the armchair.

“You still don’t know anything about Annette’s boyfriend, right?”

“You’d be the second person I informed if I did,” Claude tells him, propping his cheek against his fist. “Why? What’s up?”

“I’m going to make a peace offering.”

Claude’s eyes snap over to him, intrigue writ across his face. “Oh?”

“Yeah—figure if he’s going to meet us all, might as well be at our worst.”

“What’s _that_ mean?”

“I’m inviting him formally to karaoke night,” Sylvain says, pulling his phone out.

“ _Ooh_.” Claude looks delighted at the idea. “That’ll go well.”

Sylvain sends the olive branch in the form of a text, an offering to invite her mysterious beau and whoever wants to tag along. By the time Annette answers, their food has arrived, and Izzy’s been banished to the floor so they can eat sprawled out across the couch. 

  
  


**Annie** he probably won’t sing

**Me** he has to sing! that’s the point of karaoke night!

**Annie** >:( 

he’s not going to sing if he doesn’t want to! 

but yes, he’ll come, he’s gonna bring a friend! 

  
  


**.**

  
  


“Do you have any plans tomorrow night?”

Dimitri glances up, startled, as his office door opens. He’s unsurprised to see Felix, but he hadn’t truly expected anyone else to still be in the building. It’s late enough that no one else _should_ be there. Dimitri’s only still working because he overslept that morning. Fox’s stream had gone long, his quest to beat a boss before calling it a night overriding any common sense on getting proper sleep. Dimitri knows he’s the only one to blame, though. He could’ve stopped watching at any point, but felt the need to stick it out to the end, as if Fox cared about his loyalty. 

Staying until the end of the stream had resulted in Dimitri waking to Ingrid’s fourth call of the morning, an hour _after_ he should have arrived. He’s decided the only way to make up for the lost time is finishing everything before leaving, but he’s no where close to being done, and now he’s completely lost his train of thought at Felix’s sudden arrival. It takes him a moment to realize Felix had asked him a question, blinking as he processes it.

“Oh! Um—no, no I don’t believe so.”

Felix nods once, a curt jerk of his chin. “I need you to do me a favour, then.”

_That_ piques his interest. He sits up straighter, looking to Felix, who is looking away, cheeks coloured a dusty red. “Whatever you need, I’ll do what I can to help you, Felix.”

Felix groans, his entire body thrown in with his eye roll. “Don’t sound so earnest—it’s not anything major. Annette wants me to meet her friends at a bar tomorrow night and I don’t want to go there by myself.”

Dimitri blinks, his brows furrowing. “A bar?”

“It’s a _karaoke_ bar,” Felix says. “Or they do karaoke night there? I don’t know, I didn’t ask for details. She said I didn’t have to sing if I didn’t want to and this would be an easy way to meet her friends.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” says Dimitri. “I suppose meeting them when they’re intoxicated would be better than when they could handle asking you questions.”

Felix huffs a breath, an eye roll quickly following the noise. “Don’t phrase it like that. But. . .yes, that’s what I thought, too. I know some of them are very protective of her.”

“Understandable,” Dimitri says, which earns him a nod from Felix.

“Anyway, you’ve worked enough. Let’s go home.”

Dimitri is ready to argue, but Felix gives him a look. He packs up his things, haphazardly shoving papers into his bag and follows Felix out of the office.

He frets, perhaps more than is usual, over the next day. He’s not quite sure why Felix would insist Annette meet _him_ first, out of all of them, especially in a situation as precarious as this one, but he stamps his worry down as best he can. Felix’s assured him he doesn’t have to do anything besides stand there, not drinking, so that if he needs to drink to cope, he can. It’s an agreement he agrees to, though he still feels the furrow in his brow is now permanent for the night.

When Felix picks him up, he’s trying not to show just how odd he feels about the night, though he knows he’s failing. It’s, thankfully, not commented on. Felix and he have always avoided having awkward conversations unless pushed to. This is not one that they’ll be pushed into having. 

He relaxes bit by bit as Felix drives them to Annette’s apartment. She lives on the other side of the city than they do, in a close-clustered area of old, family owned businesses in brick buildings. Annette’s waiting on the sidewalk outside her building, her bright hair dyed orange-yellow from the street lamps overhead. 

She beams, brightly, when Felix’s car pulls up to the curb. Both of them climb from the car, and Annette launches herself at Felix to give him a hug in greeting.

“You must be Dimitri!” she exclaims, beaming. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

“You as well,” Dimitri tells her, jolting just slightly when he gets a hug, too. 

“You’re both so fancily dressed,” she comments. “You know this is a tiki bar, right?”

Dimitri looks to Felix, whose small smile as he watches Annette fall flat at her question. “What?”

“A tiki bar,” she repeats, laughing slightly. “Did I not mention that?”

“You did not.”

“Oops! It’s fine, we’re going there for karaoke, anyway. C’mon!” She climbs into the car before either can comment and Dimitri looks to Felix as the passenger door shuts. 

“A tiki bar?” he asks.

Felix scowls. “Just—get in the car.”

Annette fills the silence as Felix makes their way through the city. She asks Dimitri questions, twisted in her seat so she can look at him as they talk. He answers them, baffled as to why she cares so much about him, but every response seems to delight her, a smile constantly on her face. 

Dimitri understands why Felix likes her so much. Annette’s the living embodiment of sunshine.

By the time they reach the bar, it’s late enough that there are people milling around the sidewalks, heading to and fro to their bars of choice. The one Annette leads them to seems to be avoided. There’s an awning out front, faux ivy and flowers twined around it and the door, and even from the exterior, Dimitri can tell it’s completely different than anything he knows.

Dimitri’s eye darts around, trying to take everything in at once. He hadn’t known what to fully expect when Felix said _karaoke night_ , but this is definitely not it. The bar is lit up by orange light, the flickering in the lights overhead matching the flames going in tiki torches scattered about. There’s plenty of people inside, sitting at tables or at the bar. A stage in the far corner has a woman atop it, her bright pink hair cascading down her back as she sings along to a song that plays over the speakers. 

He’s only been inside for a fraction of a minute, and he’s already overwhelmed.

Annette’s gripping Felix’s hand and tosses a grin over her shoulder as she tugs him further inside, Dimitri helpless to do anything _but_ follow. They make their way towards the bar and Dimitri stops short as soon as he sees a shock of red hair. 

The man catches his attention instantly. His hair falls about in a mess of orange waves, a bright flower tucked behind his ear, the same colour as the floral shirt he wears unbuttoned. His elbows are resting atop the bar, and he’s chatting easily with the bartender, a lazy smile curling his lips.

Dimitri knows him. It’s the same face that stares at him above his laptop whenever he sits at his office desk. He feels the startled recognition course through him, and he looks to Felix. Felix is staring, too, blatant shock on his face. Dimitri only feels slightly relieved that he’s not _wrong_ , a fact that’s solidified as soon as Annette lifts her arm to wave.

“Sylvain!”

He looks over, his smile going from a lazy smirk to something bright and happy when his eyes land on Annette. His lips start to part but his expression freezes as soon as his eyes go above Annette’s head to land on them.

They’re not close enough to hear him, not yet, but Dimitri doesn’t need to hear to see the full extent of his emotions when his lips mouth two words.

"Holy fuck."

Annette drags Felix forward, which means Dimitri goes as well, reaching the bar where Sylvain’s still staring at them. His eyes dart to Annette’s hand, eyes flicking up to Felix before he gives a tiny nod.

“Well! That solves that mystery!”

For the second time that night, Dimitri feels himself stop short. Not only does he recognize Sylvain’s face—he recognizes his _voice_. A voice he had heard just that morning, in the wee hours before dawn, a flurry of swears crackling in Dimitri’s headphones as he failed a stealth mission in a video game.

Sylvain sounds just like Fox. 

He stands there, motionless, thoughts running rampant as Annette goes through basic introductions, and Sylvain slings his arm around her shoulders to tug her close, that small smirk on his lips unsettling. It’s not an expression he wore in their youth, and even after almost a decade, it’s not an expression he enjoys seeing. He’s having a hard time trying to comprehend the voice that drawls a declaration of them knowing one another with the voice that called him _my lion_ in a microphone.

“I mean, it’s been—what? Ten years almost? Wild. You two look good, though!” Sylvain’s saying, when Dimitri’s mind catches up enough to listen. “And _you_.” He squeezes Annette closer to his side. “Can’t believe you got yourself a rich one! When you said he worked in an office, I pictured a pencil pusher, not a _Fraldarius_.”

Felix makes a sharp noise at his side—the first sound either of them have emitted in this entire ordeal.

“Syl _vain_ ,” Annette says, voice full of reprimand. 

He just shrugs, giving her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s true! The Fraldarius’ make bank!”

“That’s not—“

She’s cut off by a dark haired woman appearing at Sylvain’s elbow, her eyes sharply lined, expression serious as she grabs Annette’s hands in her own and shoulders Sylvain’s arm off her shoulders.

“ _There_ you are, Annie! Come on, I’ve been waiting ages for our duet!”

“Oh, wait, hold on, ‘Thea—”

Her protests are lost as she’s dragged along. Felix looks ready to chase after her, but his face is still a brilliant pink and Dimitri truly has no words to formulate a conversation with _either_ of the two in front of him. Sylvain seems far less phased than Dimitri thinks he ought to, but _he_ isn’t currently having the same crisis that Dimitri is over recognizing his voice. He leans over to the bar, garnering the attention of the man behind it, and is given another drink with a flower in it.

"Why would you even say it like _that_?" Felix demands, ears pink. "You act like the Gautiers aren't the same!"

Sylvain blinks, staring at him, his eyes drifting to Dimitri quickly, before his lips quirk up in _another_ small smirk. His eyes go from warmed honey to glass shards in a blink, the twist to his lips almost cruel. "Wait, seriously? You two don't know?"

"Know what?" Dimitri asks, hurriedly, desperate to get that look off his face, that terse bite out of his voice.

"My parents cut me off like, seven years ago," Sylvain says. He shakes his head, letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "I guess they wouldn’t announce that, though, would they? Or were you two still stuck at the kids’ table when it happened?”

Dimitri feels his chest tighten by the casual way he speaks. He can’t even form the words to attempt to soothe him, to diffuse the situation, but Sylvain barrels on. It becomes clear to him in a moment that the drink in his hand isn’t his first of the night, and if he and Felix stay, he has his doubts it’s going to be his last. 

“It was great. Miklan almost killed me and then I got moved from everyone I gave a damn about—“

Felix and he speak at the same time: "Miklan did _what_?" 

"—but as soon as I decide I want to do my own thing, I'm no better than he is." Sylvain waves a hand, nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just announced that his older brother tried to _murder him_. "Don't worry about it, it was nearly a decade ago."

"What did Miklan do to you?" Dimitri asks, voice hitching. 

Sylvain _grins,_ teeth sharp. "Not me—my car's brakes. Broke a leg, lost a scholarship to a sport I didn't even like playing, but it's fine, guys, I'm okay!" He spreads his arms wide, and Annette reappears from the stage, holding the hands of the pink-haired woman who had been on it as soon as they walked in. "Annie! Welcome back!" 

Annette’s eyes dart between the three of them, her expression frazzled, as if trying to assess what’s happened. She turns on Sylvain. “Did you pick a fight about Izzy and Peppermint?”

“I did not,” Sylvain says, lifting his drink. “Scout’s honour. But Izzy _is_ cuter than Peppermint, and I will fight you if you say otherwise, Fraldarius.”

“What the _hell_ are you talking about?” Felix snaps.

“Nothing!” Annette answers. She grabs Felix’s hands. “This is Hilda. Come meet my other friends. _Please_.”

Dimitri points at the bar when Annette looks to him, and she nods before she pulls Felix away. Sylvain stays at his side, humming around his straw. He leans over before Dimitri can to get the bartender’s attention.

“What do you want?” he asks, voice far calmer than it had been, expression carefully neutral.

Dimitri’s eye drops to the drink in Sylvain’s hand and that earns him a toothy grin, one far more real than the others he had seen.

“This is pretty strong, but you look like you can hold your drink better than the girls. I can get you one—“

“Ah, no, I—.” Dimitri shakes his head, hurriedly. “Felix asked me to drive home, so I’m not drinking.”

“ _Ooh_. Got it. I’ll snag you a water.”

Dimitri watches him carefully, trying to assess. He looks completely different from their childhood days, his lean muscles turning into bulk that’s only partially hidden by his baggy overshirt. The skin tight undershirt he wears doesn’t help Dimitri’s eyes from straying, and it takes all his willpower to focus on the fact that he thinks he’s been watching Sylvain stream in the middle of the night for nearly half a year now to keep his thoughts in check.

As soon as he has the water in his hand, he drinks, trying to piece together any sort of conversation that isn’t about their families, or what trauma Sylvain obviously faced at the hands of his older brother.

He realizes all at once that in their childhood, Sylvain had always been the talker—always coercing Felix out of his bad moods, or getting them all to stop fighting to play happily together. Even when Dimitri woke up from their naps, Sylvain was always awake and ready to tell him convoluted stories until he fell back asleep.

And the thought of _that_ makes how calming and familiar Fox sounded make far more sense.

“Sorry, by the way.”

Dimitri startles out of his thoughts, looking over. Sylvain’s fidgeting with the flower in his drink, eyes on the stage where someone else has been dragged on stage by the brunette who stole Annette. 

“Why are you apologizing?”

Sylvain throws him a wry smile. “Because I’ve had one too many of these and immediately made an ass out of myself upon seeing you two for the first time in nine years?” He huffs a small laugh when Dimitri just stares. “Annette expected a fight between me and Felix, though. I’m too protective of her. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Dimitri nods, slowly. “I don’t think you have to fear Felix hurting her.” He pauses, hesitantly adding, “I also don’t think picking a fight with Felix would be the best choice.”

He snorts, softly. “Felix could easily kick my ass when we were teens so I’d fully expect him to do it now, but I’ve got to at least be _prepared_ to take him in a fight if he hurts Annie.”

Dimitri chuckles. He almost wants to bring up the sword collection lining Felix’s living room, but refrains. “I do not think you have anything to fear over him hurting her,” he repeats.

Sylvain shrugs easily, but his eyes narrow towards where Annette and Felix are with the others in his friend group. “I can’t risk it. I don’t think he would, either, but I also don’t think he’s the same kid he was when I dipped out when we were younger.”

“He definitely isn’t,” Dimitri says, “but I don’t think any of us are the same as when we were teenagers.”

Sylvain sighs, finishing his drink in one long drag. Dimitri tries to move his gaze from the movement of his throat, but can’t, and feels his face light with warmth when he turns back to him.

“I’m going to go get some air,” he says, with another glance towards his friends. He plucks the flower from his drink, tucking it behind his other ear before leaving the glass on the bar. “You can come with, if you want, or you can go over there. I didn’t mean to bring your mood down completely.”

“Ah! No, that’s not—!” He takes a moment, clearing his throat. “I would like to go outside. These types of places aren’t really my favourite.”

Sylvain grins at that, brief and fleeting. “What? You _don’t_ like getting shit faced and making a fool of yourself on a stage?”

“I fear I make a fool of myself while sober,” Dimitri tells him, which makes him laugh.

Sylvain leads him through the small cluster of the tables out to the small deck at the back of the bar. The night air is brisk, and he’s not sure how Sylvain isn’t at least slightly cold in his thin shirts, but he seems right at home, leaning back against the deck railing, tilting his head back to the night sky. 

The deck’s completely empty, the tinny sound of instrumental music pumping in through small speakers in the corners, the singer’s voice floating out from inside the bar, mingling with the city still wide awake around them. 

The bar’s not Dimitri’s usual go to. It’s small enough that the people inside seem familiar with one another, but it’s still _too much_ for him. He can’t picture any of his other friends feeling at ease amongst the tiki torches that line the patio. 

Dimitri’s eye takes in the decorations before skirting over the city around them before it lands once again on Sylvain. He looks completely relaxed, completely different to how tense he had been not fifteen minutes prior. His breath clouds above him with every exhale in the cold air. Dimitri shivers despite himself, tugging the edges of his jacket closer around him. It’s not that he even truly feels cold—there’s anticipation building up within his chest, threatening to explode all at once if he’s unable to stamp it down.

But maybe, he thinks, eye lingering on the line of Sylvain’s jaw, the dark freckles smatters across the bridge of his nose, he might not need to stamp it down.

“May I ask you something?”

Sylvain snorts. His eyes are closed, but his lips twitch up into a smile. “So formal,” he murmurs, before answering him louder. “Go for it. I might not tell you the truth, though.”

“It’s not really one of those questions,” Dimitri says, watching his face carefully. All Sylvain does is quirk an eyebrow, his eyes still closed, face still relaxed. Dimitri pauses for a moment. It’ll be completely different, if he’s right. There’s no screen to hide behind, no anonymity to protect him. “Does the name _Tempest Lion_ mean anything to you?”

Sylvain takes a moment. Dimitri watches the crease form between his brow, the way his shoulders tense just slightly, fingers curling into loose fists. One eye cracks open, bright amber burning in the dull glow of the flames around them. There’s a small, disbelieving tilt to his lips.

“No fucking way.”

Dimitri’s face _burns_. He clears his throat, hastily looking away, but Sylvain reaches out, lightning fast, and snags his arm. He straightens, peering at Dimitri. 

“I never pegged you as a _gamer_ type when we were kids.”

Dimitri huffs, still mostly embarrassed. “I could say the same about _you_.”

Sylvain laughs, a sound Dimitri’s thought of for months. Hearing it uninhibited, without the crackle of his headphones, fills him with warmth. It’s _infectious_. Dimitri can’t stop the chuckle that falls from his lips due to it. Sylvain grins at him for a moment, before a look overcomes him, brow pinching.

“Wait, wait, hold on—why the hell are you awake when I stream?”

“Oh, I—“

“I stream at the asscrack of dawn. You work in an office, don’t you? Why the hell do you watch?”

Dimitri feels his face fill with heat, the accusations hitting him square in the chest. “I—. Sometimes—.” He’s flustered, tongue lodging in his throat, but his defense derails completely, the only thing he manages to get out being, “Why am I being yelled at? _You're_ the one that streams in the middle of the night!”

“Sothis knows I’m the world’s biggest hypocrite, Dimitri— _answer the question_.”

He has to take a minute, his name falling from Sylvain’s lips enough to stop him short. After a moment, he wrenches his gaze away, shifting his weight on his heels. “Sometimes I struggle to fall back asleep,” he says. “I have—. I have nightmares. Ones that keep me awake.” He chances a quick glance over, feeling Sylvain’s gaze burning into him. He doesn’t give himself a chance to read his expression, looking away again. “Your streams are relaxing.”

There’s a long moment of silence between them before Sylvain exhales a long, slow sigh. Dimitri startles as he feels fingers in his hair and looks over. Sylvain’s lost a flower—and is tucking it gently behind Dimitri’s ears. 

“You had nightmares a lot when we were kids, too.”

“They’ve only gotten worse, I fear.”

There’s a crease to Sylvain’s brow. The fingers he still has against Dimitri’s temple skirt down, knuckles gently caressing his cheek before they fall away completely. “Right. I heard about the car accident. I’m sorry, Dimitri.”

He shakes his head. “It’s—. I’m doing alright,” he corrects, before he can completely deflect. “I go to therapy.”

“Ah.” Sylvain beams, winking. “So do I. Smart choice.”

Dimitri isn’t sure what compels him to step closer. Sylvain’s eyebrows lift slightly, but he doesn’t move away. The fires around them illuminate him in an orange glow, making his skin look radiant, the small quirk of his lips more pronounced by the shadows dancing across his face. Dimitri’s so close he can see flecks in the burning brown of Sylvain’s eyes, so close he’s tempted to count every freckled constellation on his face. 

He knows it’s preposterous—his one sided crush on an online stranger didn’t mean he had any right to invade Sylvain’s space. He knows Sylvain had always been more touchy when they were children, but it’s been nearly a decade, and their brief interactions online meant nothing. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have time to do anything truly foolish. Their moment of peace is interrupted. A young woman appears in the doorway of the deck, her light hair braided up but falling loose. The sound of her heels startles them, and when Dimitri takes a step back, so does Sylvain. She looks nervous, glancing between the two of them with a pinched brow, cheeks looking decidedly pale even under the warm light from the flickering flames surrounding them.

“Marianne!” Sylvain greets, smiling easily. “You look lovely, as always. What’s up?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Sylvain, I didn’t realize you weren’t alone—“

“It’s okay.” Sylvain’s body language immediately flips from relaxed to _protective_ in the blink of an eye. Dimitri’s not surprised to see the mood doesn’t only apply to Annette. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not feeling well,” the woman says, voice soft. She’s wringing her hands in front of her stomach, looking like she wishes she was anywhere _but_ where they are. She glances at Dimitri before looking down to the ground. “None of the others want to leave yet, but I don’t want to get a ride by myself.”

Dimitri watches Sylvain’s expression soften. “Of course. I can go with you. Have you already called one?”

The woman shakes her head. “I can now. Are you sure it’s not a problem?”

“Not at all. I’ll be back in in a second, okay?”

She nods and disappears back inside. Sylvain sighs, scrubbing a hand over his head. 

“Well. This has been nice.” He holds his hand out. “Give me your phone?”

Dimitri startles, but obeys, handing the device over. Sylvain fidgets with it for a moment before he hands it back, the screen reading a new contact. Sylvain smiles at him, his cheek dimpling.

"Text me," Sylvain says as he starts heading back to the bar. He adds an, "If you want," tossed over his shoulder as he disappears back inside, leaving Dimitri out in the brisk night air, with a flower tucked above his ear.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so they meet!! Dimitri keeps the flower on his desk in his office after this, in case anyone is curious to its fate lmaoo
> 
> I have to thank [TK](https://twitter.com/cntrlvaneau) for her completely selfless offer to beta this for me! you can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616), if you want!


	3. three

“What do you do for fun?” 

The question throws Dimitri off, based on his silence. It’s late, a night Sylvain had had plans to stream but decided against it. He lays in bed, phone on the pillow next to him, Dimitri’s contact image—a slightly blurred mirror selfie—flashing on the call screen as Sylvain stares up at his darkened ceiling. 

Dimitri had texted him _immediately_ , the night they had met at the bar, and it had had Sylvain cracking up in the backseat of the Uber while Marianne chewed on a piece of ginger for her nausea. It’s been weeks since then, and there hasn't been a day that’s gone by without them talking—either through text, or phone call, or the occasional message _Tempest Lion_ leaves in chat on Sylvain’s streams. 

It’s been nice—far too nice—reconnecting with them. Even after he made a complete ass of himself, part way from tipsy to drunk, immediately bringing up Miklan again. Not his smoothest moment, and one he had thought would end any chance of a rekindling friendship from the start. Both of them had been understanding of what happened, Dimitri more so, but Felix has warmed up again. 

There are hints of their childhood personalities, but they’re all a far cry from the teenagers they had all been when they were last together. Felix is as snarky and fierce as he remembers Glenn being, Dimitri’s kindness present in every act, despite the darkness lurking just within. Sylvain’s gone from how he was, too—wildly self-destructive, a lowly skirt chaser that wanted nothing more than to just _feel_ , into what he is now. Even though he still struggles to call himself totally better as a person, he's in a better place than he was before. Ashe and Annie tell him he has a Mom Mode, fiercely protective over all of them, but he’s still not sure that warrants friendship from them.

They’re not the same kids they were when Sylvain had—unwillingly—walked out on their lives, but they’re willing to put in the effort, which makes Sylvain always feel undeserving.

His other friends are stuck with him by this point. He knows he’s at least somewhat better than he had been when they were young, but he’s not sure he wants Dimitri and Felix tied to him again in the convoluted mess that encompasses Sylvain’s life. Claude, Mercie, any of the others, they had all befriended him by default at this point in their lives. They all had their own crises going on, ones Sylvain did his best to alleviate and help with. His own were more internal, ones that he mostly deals with in his therapy sessions every other Friday. 

Still, despite keeping most of it locked up, he can’t help but feel like if anyone can understand what he’s been through, it’d be Dimitri. Dimitri, who had talked about the loss of his father and the sight in an eye with gentle tones, who asked in a delicate way about Sylvain's own car accident, his refusal to get back behind the wheel unless absolutely necessary. Dimitri, with his sweet comments after every stream, thanking him on the nights Sylvain doesn’t play and instead lets him call to talk to him until Dimitri’s calmed down, as if Sylvain himself is a stranger to nightmares.

“Um. . .” He hears shifting after Dimitri’s hum, him resettling in bed. “For fun?” 

Sylvain laughs, pushing his hair away from his face. The way he sounds so _baffled_ is equal parts amusing and concerning to Sylvain. “Yeah, for _fun_ , Dimitri. You said you don’t really play games, right?” 

“Right. I, ah—.” He trails off. Sylvain can picture him perfectly, laying in bed, staring at the ceiling with a crease between his brows. “I’m. . .I go to work.” 

“Yeah, but that’s not fun,” Sylvain says. “What do you do outside of it?” 

“Um.” More silence, until Dimitri makes a soft, _oh!_ “Sometimes, I go out to lunch with Ingrid! And Dedue will come over and he’ll help me cook something!”

It’s Sylvain’s turn for silence. His own brow furrows and he rolls onto his side, scooping his phone up and taking it off speaker to hold to his ear. “That’s it?” 

“Well. . .there are some times where Glenn will take me out to museums. Those are fun.” 

“You don’t, like. . .just hang out with people at a bar? Or have any hobbies?” 

“I mean. . .I watch your streams. If that counts.”

“It definitely doesn’t.”

Dimitri sounds sheepish, another soft _oh_ coming across the line. Sylvain pushes a hand through his hair as he props his elbow on his knee, looking over to his desk as he thinks. There’s no way that a twenty-four year old didn’t have any hobbies, but from what he’s learned—and _known_ —Dimitri’s always thrown himself headfirst into working and doing his best without taking time to rest and relax, unless forced to.

“Okay, hold on,” Sylvain says. “I’m thinking.”

“About. . .?” Dimitri ventures, sounding hesitant.

“How we’re going to get you some hobbies. You don’t like _playing_ video games, but there’s got to be something you’ve always wanted to learn to do.”

“I—I haven’t really thought of it before,” he admits. “I played some sports in university, but that was just really a way to, um, get aggression out.”

“So, let’s not think about sports. Most of them suck, anyway.” Sylvain can still remember Dimitri and Felix in the stands at any of the games he played in high school, Dimitri’s starry-eyed stare whenever Sylvain asked him over to help him practice after school. “Do you still like horses like Ingrid and I did as kids? Marianne volunteers at a stable, that might be something.” He pauses. “Wait, hold on, or the arts! You like museums? What about painting or something? Hilda makes jewellery, she’d be willing to teach you how to make these little cord bracelets or something. She sews, too. Most of her clothes are handmade.”

“Ah, no, I don’t—“ Dimitri pauses, before he clears his throat. “Dedue knows how to knit, but. . .I think I’d like to learn how to embroider.”

“Embroider?” Sylvain flops back onto his pillows, the thought of the hoops that line Mercedes’ walls at home filling his mind as he grins. “Great! That’s great!”

“Is it?” Dimitri asks, sounding flustered. “I don’t think it would—“

“You’re coming over tomorrow night.”

“Wh- _what?_ ”

“Mercedes knows how to embroider. She’s the best, her house is decorated with hoops she’s done. If you’re going to learn from anyone, it should be her.”

Dimitri makes a few stammered noises, that might’ve turned into protests if Sylvain let him fully form his thoughts. Instead, he barrels on, excited at the prospect of having a night with them and Mercedes. 

“Claude’s going to be at Hilda’s so it’ll be perfect! Mercedes will definitely be down for it—and you can even bring Dedue.”

“But—“ Another few noises, before Dimitri asks, “Are you sure she wouldn’t mind?”

“Trust me, Mercie will love you. She’s got a ton of embroidery supplies.” 

There’s a long pause. “Isn’t Mercedes your boss?”

“Aren’t you technically Feilx’s?”

“Ah." Dimitri chuckles softly. "I suppose that’s fair.”

Sylvain grins, though Dimitri can’t see it. “Sound like a plan, then? I’ll text you details later.”

“Only if you’re certain.”

His eyes roll. “I am. Don’t worry a hair on your pretty little head, Dimitri, it’ll be great. Now—are you ready to try to go back to sleep?”

A soft sigh. “Yes, I think so. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sylvain tells him. “Goodnight.”

“Thank you,” Dimitri repeats, and before Sylvain can chastise him over it, he follows with, “Sleep well.”

**.**

Sylvain calls Dimitri just after noon, when he’s sitting at his desk in the office, trying to finish lunch while working at the same time. Video calls are always exciting with him—Dimitri doesn’t think he’s ever actively communicated through them, only drawing on experience from conference calls at work. If Sylvain wants to talk faster than texting, though, video calls are his go-to. Dimitri always answers. Today is no exception, his fingers hastily wiping sauce on the paper napkin atop his lap as he collects his device.

Sylvain’s standing in a store, not looking at his phone. Dimitri has an elegant view of the bottom three-fourths of his face, before he greets him and Sylvain startles. His smile is bright, even through the pixelated connection.

“There he is!” he says. Dimitri spots the bright pink cord of a headphone dangling from his ear as his voice crackles. “Did you get my text?”

_Many of them_ , Dimitri thinks, but the last one he had read, he had answered, and he tells him as such. Sylvain hums, eyes drifting away from the screen. “Mercie says she has plenty of stuff for embroidery, but I wanted to get your opinion on thread colours, since I know we’ll probably use far too much of her own.”

Dimitri immediately flusters. Last night’s post-nightmare call had ended on a high note, but he hadn’t actually thought Sylvain had been serious until his first text of the day, giving him a time and Sylvain’s address. Dimitri had messaged Dedue, who agreed, and promised that they could bring food with them to help alleviate some of the anxiety he’s feeling. Dimitri knows he’s overly nervous, given that they’re just going to be doing a small get together, but it does help.

“Colours?” he asks. 

Sylvain hums an affirmative sound. “Do you have any plans on what you want to try to make? I want to make a fox.”

Dimitri huffs a small laugh at that, unsurprised. “I haven’t thought about it, honestly,” he says. 

“Oh, yeah, you’re still at work, aren’t you? What’s your favourite flower? I can try to find some colours to match it if you want to do something floral.”

“I haven’t thought about _that_ either,” he admits, feeling his face heat with a blush.

Sylvain gives him a flat look. “Dimitri, darling, we have _got_ to get you out more.”

“I—“ He looks up as the door to his office opens, Felix stalking in with a small scowl on his face. “Oh, Felix—“

“ _Hi, Feeelix!_ ” Sylvain’s voice crackles over the line and when Dimitri looks to his screen, he’s grinning. “Tell him Peppermint would lose in a fight against Isabelle!”

“Bite me, Sylvain,” Felix snaps. He drops the file in his hand onto Dimitri’s desk, huffing. “Isabelle’s been too spoiled by you to know how to hunt.”

“Hey! Izzy’s tough! She’s tried to kill Claude and I countless times—she’s best at stealth attacks.”

Felix rolls his eyes, opting to ignore Sylvain entirely. “We have _work_ , Dimitri.”

“Right! Of course! Sylvain, my apologies, but—“

“Don’t apologize, I get it,” Sylvain tells him, winking. “I’ll see you later tonight!”

Dimitri looks up from the ended call just in time to see another dramatic eye roll from Felix. He opens his mouth, ready to explain, but Felix lifts a hand, fingers taught, palm flat.

“I _don’t_ want to know,” he states. “Let’s just get on with this.”

It’s hard to concentrate for the rest of the day. Felix gets more irritated the more Dimitri’s mind wanders, and, eventually, they both decide leaving early is better than trying to attempt productivity when neither is capable of it.

He hurries as soon as he gets home to get ready, overthinking his wardrobe choices. A small, friendly get together isn’t something Dimitri is unused to. Ingrid’s hosted movie nights, Dedue’s hosted board game nights. He knows he’s just nervous because it’s _Sylvain_ , and from what Sylvain’s told him, Mercedes is one of his dearest friends. 

Dimtri’s just prone to messing things up, despite his best efforts. Sothis only knows how many needles he’s going to bend and break tonight. 

He finally decides on what to wear when Dedue texts him to tell him he’s on the way. He dresses in what he deems is nice, but not _overly_ nice, remembering Annette’s comments when they had gone to the tiki bar, and Sylvain’s own outfits he’s seen in video calls. One of his nicer sweaters and a pair of jeans that have never had to deal with Peppermint’s insistent need to crawl up denim.

Dedue’s car smells like the baked ziti he’s made when Dimitri climbs into the front seat, and he’s still looking nervous, based on Dedue’s immediate reassurance that everything will be fine.

The drive to Sylvain’s apartment is quiet; Dedue plays soft, instrumental music in an attempt to keep Dimitri’s nerves at bay, but nothing will help him, he fears. They follow Sylvain’s directions on where to park, punching in the code to slip inside the building. He wishes he had something to do with his hands, but when he had offered to carry the dish, Dedue had just given him a calm, level stare and told him he’d handle it. 

Dimitri’s palms are clammy when he knocks on the door. Sylvain _knows_ they’re there—he had texted Dimitri the code to get into the building, after all—but the anticipation he’s feeling is unexplainable. He’s overthinking. 

He’s _always_ overthinking.

Sylvain swings the door open moments later, a bright and happy smile on his face. Dimitri at least doesn’t feel overdressed upon seeing him in his own cozy sweater, jeans slightly torn at the knees. Despite having never met Dedue, Sylvain greets him like an old friend when Dimitri introduces him, and Dedue gives Sylvain a small smile. 

“That smells _amazing_ ,” Sylvain says, leaning close to the foil wrapped baking pan. “Thanks for bringing dinner.”

“It was nothing,” Dedue answers. 

Dimitri wipes his palms against his thighs, and follows them both inside as Sylvian lets him in. 

The scent of cinnamon and bergamot permeates through the air as they walk inside, leaving their shoes alongside a neat row near the door. The living room is lit with a dimmed overhead, a lamp off near the wall painting the room with an orangey glow. There’s a long couch, low to the ground, with two armchairs flanking it. Atop the coffee table are two mugs on coasters, a plate of what looks to be cookies and tarts in the center.

Dimitri’s eye can’t help but wander from the TV mounted to the wall, to the framed art, to a cluster of pictures in a branching frame, some holding Sylvain, almost all of them group shots. Every aspect of the house screams _lived in_ , comfortable and cozy. He feels immediately at ease as Sylvain leads them further in. 

A woman sits on the couch, legs crossed underneath her dress, pale blonde hair pushed behind her ears. She’s humming softly as she scritches Isabelle, whose lounging across her lap in a puddle of fluffy fur, purr so loud Dimitri can hear it from the distance. She watches as he and Dedue enter with slitted blue eyes, but she makes no move to leave, seemingly content to stay and be spoiled. 

“This is the lovely Mercedes,” Sylvain announces. “Mercie, Dimitri and Dedue.”

She looks up, expression slightly startled for a moment before she blinks it away and a smile replaces it, warm and comforting. “Oh! It’s nice to meet you both!” 

Sylvain gestures around the room, spreading his arms wide. “Make yourselves at home. I’ll get this in the oven right away and grab some drinks for you guys. Mercie’s made some treats to snack on before, though, so snack away!”

Dedue hands over the pan as Sylvain hurries towards where Dimitri assumes the kitchen is. He’s still taken away by the flat’s atmosphere, completely different from Dimitri’s own home. He’s still looking around when Sylvain’s head pops out from around a corner.

“Water good for you two?”

Dimitri murmurs an agreement as Dedue nods, finally unsticking his feet from where he’s standing to move further into the living room. 

There’s two tall containers next to Mercedes on the floor by the couch, the clear plastic drawers showcasing a rainbow hue of rolled threads of embroidery floss. She’s smiling serenely as she scoops Izzy up and sets her aside, placing a palm on her when the cat tries to slink back onto her lap without having to look.

“It’s nice to meet both of you,” she says again. “I’m not really the _best_ teacher, but I know enough that I hope I can help!”

“Anything you offer will be invaluable knowledge,” Dedue tells her, and Mercedes lifts a hand, covering her giggle with her palm.

“Aren’t you sweet,” she says. She turns over her shoulder, raising her voice just slightly. “Sylvain, you truly do attract only the kindest.”

“Don’t speak _too_ highly of me, Mercie,” Sylvain says, rounding the corner with two glasses in his hands. “I need their expectations of me to be low.”

He pairs his declaration with a wink that has Dimitri frowning, but before he can comment, a glass is foisted onto him and Sylvain ushers them into sitting down while Mercedes gathers her things. 

She goes through basics with them while dinner finishes heating. Simple steps of preparing the fabric with sketched out designs before setting the embroidery hoop up entirely. By the time Dimitri’s gotten his fabric taught, the oven timer beeps at them, and Sylvain scrambles up to go gather their dinner. 

They eat spread out across the carpet, using the coffee table as their main base. Sylvain consistently moves Mercedes’ glass back to a coaster as they chat mildly, asking about how they all met. Dimitri’s heard Sylvain started working for Mercedes when she first opened the bakery, but he wasn’t expecting him to have been her _first_ employee. 

“He’s been the best help I could have,” she tells them. “I don’t think I’d still be open without him.”

Sylvain scoffs at that, downplaying his own part, but when she presses him, he relents with shrugs and half-hearted excuses, face reddening under their gazes. “I just learned a lot from watching my dad, that’s it. The only good thing about being a Gautier, I suppose.”

By the time they’ve finished eating, Mercedes is ready to launch into full teacher mode. An hour into it, they’re still all scattered on the floor, Izzy sitting atop the back of a chair, perched high above to stare down at them. He’s unused to it—Felix’s cat is extremely loving, cuddling anyone who walks through Felix’s door. He wonders how Sylvain would react to meeting Peppermint, if his arguments about Izzy being better would have any footing if he experienced Peppermint’s needy cuddles. 

Dimitri feels especially judged by Izzy’s unwavering stare whenever he glances to her to see it on him. He’s _awful_ at embroidering. He spends fifteen minutes just trying to thread a needle, bending three of them before he’s able to get it successfully threaded. 

He’s unsurprised by how quickly Dedue picks it up. Mercedes had sketched out a bouquet of flowers for him, teaching him different stitch types to make different petals. Dimitri’s own lion had been drawn out by Sylvain, to match the tiny fox he’s making. Dimitri tries his hardest, but every time he glances over to Sylvain, sitting close enough their knees knock, his determined look throws Dimitri off. His brows furrowed, pink tongue peeking out between his lips as he frowns down at the hoop in his hands. Every glance has Dimitri lose all sense of time as he flusters, blush burning from his face to the tips of his ears and down his chest. 

Mercedes’ gentle hands help guide him whenever she notices, as if his blush is due to embarrassment over his failures at this delicate task. It’s not entirely wrong, but Sylvain leans over to check on his progress, heat radiating from him as his chin hooks over Dimitri’s shoulders, praise for him breathed softly against him, and it takes all of Dimitri’s effort to hide his shivers.

By the end of the night Dimitri has a semi-recognizable lion outline, stitched out in a multitude of colours. Sylvain’s tiny fox is filled with reds and oranges, Dedue’s flowers a rainbow hue, and Mercedes own simple rose looking far more put together than his. 

Sylvain still gushes about it, when Dimitri hesitantly hands his hoop over. Dimitri knows he’s being sincere—Sylvain has teased him about a lot of things, but not something like this. It doesn’t help Dimitri’s blush fade. He feels overheated for the rest of the night, even long after when he’s bid them both goodbye and is sitting in Dedue’s car, going over every interaction he had that night. 

By the time he’s settled in bed, he’s still warm, laying down with the covers on, hands fisted in the fabric. He texted Sylvain by request when he arrived home, but the only answer he received was a smiley face. 

He’s trying his best not to dwell on his feelings, but they bubble up anyway, rising up to lodge in his throat, a reminder every time his heart beats a little faster.

A crush on a faceless internet personality was one thing. Dimitri had been determined to bury those feelings for them to never reemerge. But a crush on _Sylvain_ , who's kind and generous, snarky and witty all at once, whose smile makes Dimitri feel warm to his core, is completely different. 

Every time he tries to push those feelings away, they float back to the surface, a wave he cannot stop crashing in an endless rush. Sylvain, who had only been back in his life a few weeks when he told Dimitri to call him if he woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. Sylvain, whose casual affection made Dimitri's heart thunder in his chest, threatening to break through his ribs, an offering he feels he'd be willing to make to him. 

The issue is, it doesn’t end with the embroidery night. Dimitri hadn’t expected it to, but Sylvain seems to make it a duty upon himself to surprise and spoil him. Spur of the moment visits to the office, coercing him out to a bistro down the street, a walk through the park to get him out of his head. Invitations to come hang out for _take out night_ at his apartment, where they sit in a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor while Claude lounges on the couch behind them spooning Izzy. 

None of it helps how he feels. If anything, it worsens the feelings he has. 

Every time he watches a stream, Dimitri feels transported, as if it’s just the two of them, even when Sylvain’s talking to the others in chat. Dimitri keeps most of his comments out of the stream, opting to text Sylvain, knowing his phone’s on top of the desk beside him based on his quick responses. If Dimitri says something Sylvain finds particularly _witty_ he demands he sends it in the chat to publicly comment on them, which leaves Dimitri feeling inexplicably _fuzzy_ , as if he’s somehow special just because of that. 

He knows it’s not anything different. He’s seen Sylvain with his other friends, even with Felix. The way he treats Dimitri is only different in that he’s invited over by himself, though he knows Sylvain’s realized he’s still not great with crowds. Nights spent on the couch with Izzy between them, still eyeing Dimitri as if she’s unsure if he’s a friend or foe, are the best, even if he gets home in the middle of the night, unable to sleep from how wound up he is. 

He tells himself it’s not different with Sylvain when he lies awake immediately after Sylvain’s stopped streaming for the night, a text from him unanswered on his phone. It _can’t_ be. He’s so unbelievably happy to have Sylvain back in his life, something he never would have guessed would happen half a year ago. He resolves to keep his feelings to himself. Risking the fragile foundation of their rebuilt friendship wasn’t worth his selfish desires for _more_. Despite their bickering, Sylvain and Felix’s friendship has rekindled, Ingrid’s created a group chat with the name _Quartet_ for them. 

Things are good. Far too good for Dimitri to risk anything else. It's more than enough.

He rolls over onto his side, fishing his phone off the nightstand. Sylvain’s text still sits in his notification bar, and he hastily answers it before setting the phone back down, burrowing under his blankets so he doesn’t have to hear if it buzzes with another response or not. 

**Sylvain** stop commenting about the stream and go to sleep, dima!! 

you’ll have good dreams now, i just know it!

**Me** I’m certain you’re right. I hope you sleep well, too.

**.**

Sylvain has made a lot of poor life choices. He’s no stranger to screwing up or making devastating mistakes. Like agreeing to play soccer in middle school to appease his father, or agreeing to go drive to pick up Miklan’s meds for him on a cloudy Saturday morning. 

Or when he agreed that, after months of physical therapy, his friends—in his life from when Sylvain was _three_ —probably didn’t care about him anymore. 

He’s not entirely sure this choice is comparable. 

It’s not a bad choice, just not one of his smartest. Like when he convinced Ashe to partake in a shot challenge the first time he had gone out drinking with them. He’s certain Hilda’s brother still hasn’t forgiven him for the stained upholstery in the back of the truck cab.

_This_ choice is entirely selfish. Claude is away for the night, at Hilda’s, which had made this move seem completely logical to two in the afternoon Sylvain. While he’s used to Dimitri coming over for movies or to hang out, or when Sylvain goes over to Dimitri’s own place and ends up crashing on the plush couch in his living room, Dimitri’s never spent the night at _his_ apartment. There’s always been a reason for Dimitri to leave at the end of the night, but tonight, Sylvain’s changed it. He’s invited him over to watch a stream, in person.

In Sylvain’s room.

In his _bed_.

But Dimitri always watches his streams. The comments he sends always have Sylvain grinning, his adorable post-stream texts telling him he’s done a good job absolutely threatens to body Sylvain every time. Dimitri’s loyal to a fault, and Sylvain cannot help but ask, casually, a simple text. He hadn’t been expecting an answer for a bit—Dimitri and he were both, technically, at work, but Mercedes didn’t mind him checking his phone once or twice. He’s just gone to shove it back into his pocket when it buzzes with Dimitri’s reply, an enthusiastic _yes!_ that has his heart lodging in his throat. 

Sylvain spends the rest of his shift _planning_ and goes into a mild panic mode as soon as he gets home. He doesn’t even bother to hunt down Izzy, just starts cleaning. It’s not like the flat’s messy, but he’s _nervous_ in a way he’s never been when Dimitri’s come over before. 

In a way that tells him in a voice he tries to stuff down that maybe— _maybe_ —this feeling isn’t quite platonic anymore.

He whips out the vacuum to drown his thoughts out, making _Izzy_ panic when it’s brought out outside of his usual vacuum schedule. He barely pays her any heed as she darts down the hall, tail poofed and hissing as she retreats to Claude’s room to hide. 

In between his manic cleaning, he manages to rationalize his thoughts down enough to start making dinner. It’s not any different than the others, nor how they had been as kids. Sleepovers at the Blaiddyd or Fraldarius household always ended up with him, Felix, and Dimitri vying for space on their mattresses while stray limbs fell over the bed’s edge. Even in adulthood, Sylvain’s shared his bed with his friends. There have been countless nights when the others have collapsed into his bed, nights where he’s woken up to Claude flopped atop his sheets because Izzy commandeered his own bed. And—besides—if Dimitri was uncomfortable, Sylvain decides he himself could always sleep in Claude’s room. That could work. 

He really hopes Dimitri doesn’t mind, though.

Dimitri sends him a message when he’s on his way and Sylvain tries not to overthink his response of _hope you’re hungry!_ when all that it gets from Dimitri is a smiley face. 

He gathers Izzy in his arms after everything’s ready. He’s just counting down the minutes until Dimitri arrives, holding her up so he’s nose to nose with her.

“I’m a fool,” he tells her, completely serious.

Izzy meows her complaints, but Sylvain continues on, thoughts quickly derailing until Izzy, sick of being held, smacks a paw against his face. Sylvain just stares up at her, lips pursed against her toe beans, until there’s knocking on the door. Izzy starts squirming and Sylvain lets her go with a murmur of _be free, beast_ , before he heads to the door. 

As soon as it’s open, Sylvain’s struck with just how unfair it is that Dimitri’s grown up as beautiful as he has. He had always been a cute kid, with a princely air about him, and distressingly earnest blue eyes. He’s grown into a roguishly handsome man, all broad shoulders and slim waist and large, _large_ hands. He stands in the hall with a small, shy smile on his face, looking like he had come straight there from the office, his shirt unbuttoned a bit to show off collarbones Sylvain is slightly horrified to discover he wants his mouth on, _now_.

He manages to draw his gaze up, clearing his throat as his ears burn. Dimitri shifts his weight, hand clutching the bag slung over his shoulder. 

Sylvain knows he has it bad. He pushes those thoughts down, though, and swings the door wider, letting Dimitri come in. 

Even _if_ he has it bad, wants something more than friendship, he knows there’s no guarantee he’ll get it from Dimitri. Dimitri deserves better, he figures. Sylvain isn’t built for anything more than quick flings, no matter what his therapist and the others have tried to convince him. He knows he’s just fooled them. 

He doesn’t let himself dwell on it, regardless. 

Dimitri’s been over countless times at this point, but he still acts so shy when he sits on the couch, holding his hand out to Izzy with a flat palm, letting her hesitantly approach, the allure of treats too strong to ignore. She’s still completely unsure of him, despite his multiple visits, but she eats the treat, greedily pining for more while Sylvain dishes up their dinners. 

He’s hit with another feeling, as they settle down to eat, and his question about Dimitri’s day has already slipped past his lips. It’s not unusual for him to do something like this. Sylvain _likes_ cooking, likes having the others over and chatting with them. With Dimitri, it’s different. _Domestic_ , even. It catches his breath in his throat as he tries to listen to Dimitri go over a few meetings he had during the day. 

Sylvain barely waits half a second after Dimitri’s finished talking to push his chair back. “I think I want a beer. Do you want one?”

Dimitri’s startled by the question, eyes blinking wide. “Oh, um—no, thank you, though.”

Sylvain nods, hastily rushing to the kitchen. He fumbles a bit as he pulls a bottle from the fridge and rifles for the opener. 

_It’s not different. It can’t be different_.

He takes a long drink before he walks back out. The beer is definitely not strong enough, but it helps. Sort of. 

Izzy paces between their legs, trying to cute her way into getting dinner scraps as Sylvain talks about his own day. That’s something he’s good at, at least. It relaxes him, too, going over boring inventory numbers and sales. Dimitri listens attentively, though Sylvain knows he probably doesn’t care too much about Mercedes’ business. 

It’s a steady way, at least, to distract his spiralling thoughts, especially after, when they do dishes side by side, Dimitri insisting on helping by drying them off. By the time it’s late enough for him to start streaming, Sylvain’s fully relaxed and happy, bursting with a warmth he knows he’ll be overanalyzing later.

His bedroom’s not stocked with two chairs—there’s not enough space at the desk for him to gather Claude’s chair, either. With the bed and desk against the same wall, jammed under the window, there’s hardly any space for his own chair, but he figures Dimitri will be more comfortable sitting on the bed anyway. Sylvain gathers spare pillows and blankets, stealing a cushion from the couch to help make a nest of sorts at the foot of the bed so that Dimitri can comfortably watch over his shoulder. 

“I can have the audio on for you,” he offers, twisting in his chair to get comfortable as he turns on his equipment. “So you’re not just hearing my voice.”

When he glances over, Dimitri’s shuffling one of the blankets around, tucking it around his legs. He doesn’t even look up as he says, easily, “No, that’s alright. I prefer your voice, anyway.”

There’s a moment where Sylvain processes those words, and Dimitri realizes he’s said them. They both tense; he watches a bright red blush settle on Dimitri’s cheeks before spreading down his neck. Sylvain shifts, clearing his throat to look away, back to what he’s supposed to be doing. 

It’s not the first time Sylvain’s had an in person audience when he streams. Ashe had come over when he had first started doing this to watch, but when Sylvain’s stream times turned into middle of the night ones, he had all but banned Ashe from coming over and losing sleep over it. That hasn’t stopped him from watching anyway, but Sylvain likes to think he’s listened to. Sometimes. 

Even with prior experience, it’s hard to concentrate on being _Fox_ while he’s got Dimitri in the corner of his eye, face lit up with the rapidly flashing colours from the game screen as he plays. He has an easy enough time keeping up a constant flow of commentary, delighting each time he catches a glimpse of Dimitri’s smile at something particularly _witty_ , the way he hastily covers his laugh with his hand in case Sylvain’s mic picks it up. 

Sylvain grows bold with it, too. Flirting has always been second-nature to him, and he’s always implemented it into his streaming persona. It feels great whenever he can say something and pair it with a wink tossed to Dimitri—feels _indescribable_ with how he always blushes, flustering immediately.

He goes through more relaxing quests in game. Dimitri’s admitted multiple times fighting games had never appealed to him, even when Sylvain played them on stream. The game he’s going through has more downtimes than the last game he had streamed, which has made for some heated commentary from other viewers, but he’s never done this for fame or fans. 

It’s completely worth it to watch Dimitri lean forward inch by inch, gaze enraptured and focused solely on the screen. Even without the audio, he seems like he’s having the time of his life. Sylvain’s chest swells with the thought that _he’_ s actually helping, in this weird, niche way. 

He’s almost done with the stream when Dimitri shifts, settling back against the pillows he’s got propped against the wall. Sylvain’s attention immediately strays away from his screen, eyes landing on him. 

Dimitri’s face is relaxed, eyes shut, his breathing steady. He’s fallen asleep, holding a pillow to his chest, cheek squished against the others and Sylvain’s heart skips at the sight of it. He can’t help himself, shifting his weight in his chair to lean over.

The gap between them isn’t much. Sylvain’s hand brushes hair from Dimitri’s eyes, fingers gently trailing along the pale freckles on his nose. He's hardly noticed he's stopped playing until he hears the enemy music sound in his headphones and looks up to see he's being attacked and chat is losing it.

"Sorry, guys!" he says into his mic. "The cat was pawing at the door and I thought I could stealth away to let her in."

Even through his headphones and the foam, he can hear Izzy's meow of betrayal from the shut door.

He checks on Dimitri after he's resumed playing, exhaling a quiet breath when he notices he hasn't even shifted. By the time he's wrapping up the stream, Dimitri's snoring softly, hugging a pillow to his chest, completely lax. Sylvain finishes the stream and gets everything shut down, relying on the soft light from his lamp to help maneuver Dimitri so he's not curled at the foot of the bed. Sylvain's mildly surprised he doesn't wake up, but settles with the thought that he probably needs the sleep as much as he does.

Sylvain slips out of the bedroom carefully, footsteps quiet, shutting the door with more care. Izzy’s a _mess_ , screaming immediately when he creaks the door shut, and he scoops her up, scritching her behind the ears. Claude isn’t home, which means her normal source of attention when Sylvain streams is gone. She starts purring immediately and he lets her stay in the bathroom as he changes, getting ready for bed, tangling between his legs as he brushes his teeth.

She follows him dutifully, a trot in her step as he heads back to the bedroom, but when he picks her up, she meows in complaint. 

“Shush, you, there’s no space. You’ll have Claude’s bed all to yourself.”

She stares at him blankly, uncomprehending, and Sylvain just dumps her in the middle of Claude’s unmade bed, tucking her underneath a yellow hoodie that’s managed to get tangled in the sheets. 

He can pinpoint the exact moment she realizes she’s being banished for the night when he reopens his bedroom door and hears the flurry of movement. Sylvain manages to slip back inside, shutting the door before Izzy’s hit the hallway, and her meows go ignored as he looks back to his bed. 

Dimitri’s hardly moved, curled on his side, golden hair falling across the pillow. His lips are parted just slightly with every exhale, his lashes casting shadows on the arcs of his cheeks. 

The first hint of panic floods him at the realization that accompanies the sight. It’s _bad_. Bad thoughts, bad _wants_. All he wants is to curl up next to him, let Dimitri snuggle against him and fall asleep to the sound of his steady breathing.

It’s more than Sylvain deserves. 

He takes a moment, slowly uncurling his fingers from the fists they’ve formed in his sweats, steadying his breathing. His heart’s thundering, but he ignores it, flicking the lamp off. 

Dimitri makes a small, sleepy noise when Sylvain slips under the covers. Like his body’s instinctually seeking warmth, he reaches for Sylvain, and he hushes him gently, slipping his arm over his waist to hold him close.

“Ssh, it’s alright, you’re alright, love— _lion_.” He hastily corrects himself, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible as his heart pounds in his chest. “It’s just me.”

The scrunch of his brow relaxes as Sylvain smooths the hair away from Dimitri’s face, pressing a small kiss to his forehead. 

It’s been too good, having Dimitri back in his life. It’s not been completely easy, but steadily being able to pick up pieces and attempt to glue them back together is more than he ever thought he’d get. So, naturally, he has to fuck it up by feeling more than platonic feelings for Dimitri. 

He can just imagine the look on Felix’s face if he ever told him, the pure fury that would light his eyes. The accusations that would fall from his lips—hell, he might even do what Sylvain had been prepared to do to protect Annette’s honour from her _mysterious beau_. It’s gotten less tense between them, after nine years of them all unsure of what exactly happened to Sylvain, but he can easily picture Felix with flowers Annie’s tucked behind his ear kicking his ass to protect his friend.

Luckily, Sylvain thinks, fingers curling loose hair behind Dimitri’s ear, trailing down his jaw, he wants nothing more than to keep Dimitri safe and happy. 

And, if that means he has to swallow down whatever feelings are brewing in him, he will.

**.**

Dimitri has memories of their childhood, somewhat clouded by grief and darkness, but powering through despite it. 

He remembers Felix, teary-eyed but smiling, proudly declaring to Dimitri that he and Sylvain weren’t going to die without one another, a deathpact made by a six and eight year old. He remembers Sylvain appearing for one of their playdates with a broken arm in a bright blue cast and a sheepish grin, holding a marker in his free hand, declaring he wanted his best friends to sign their names on it first. He remembers the first time they went to the stables to go horseback riding, and Sylvain sitting beside Felix on the sidelines since Felix was too afraid of the ponies to ride with Dimitri and Ingrid.

Then, there are the new memories, slowly filling his mind even in his darkest days, a warming glow forcing every intrusive thought out until it’s all he can think about. Cafe lunch dates with Sylvain, Ingrid, and Felix, where the argument of _who’s cuter_ out of Isabelle and Peppermint ends in a tie, since Ingrid takes Felix’s side, and Dimitri feels obligated to take Sylvain’s. Nights where he’s dragged out to that damnable tiki bar to be witness to Sylvain’s drunken singing attempts, Annette dragging a red-faced Felix onto the tiny stage after, the murderous glares Dimitri gets whenever he has the _audacity_ to applaud Felix afterwards. 

It’s incredibly _good_ , perhaps the best he’s felt since before the car accident. 

Despite the realization, he’s still surprised when his mood is pointed out. 

Dedue comments about it once, and leaves it. Dimitri’s brighter mood. His therapist takes note of it, but none talk in depth about it enough for Dimitri to piece it together. 

It’s Felix, who points it out. 

Despite how they were in the first few weeks, Sylvain and Felix’s light bickering has turned to them talking regularly, even if half of his texts to Felix are pictures of Isabelle. Felix still hasn’t admitted Isabelle’s cute, but his threats to just block Sylvain have dwindled. They talk regularly outside of cat pictures, from what Dimitri knows. Felix is the first person Sylvain calls when Annette’s overworking herself, either at the bakery or on her singing. 

Dimitri knows it’s just another way Sylvain takes care of his friends. He’s witnessed Sylvain carrying a drunkenly passed out Claude on his back out of the bar, the escort he provides to Hilda and Marianne when they don’t wish to take a car home by themselves. There have been times, too, where he’s walked Dimitri up to his door instead of just heading straight home, but he never looks beyond it, never tries to initiate something he knows is only there in his own heart. 

They’re friends. Dimitri can’t feel sad about that aspect. Sylvain’s good and kind in ways he takes no credit for, not asking for anything in return. Sylvain’s friendship is more than he could’ve ever hoped for, and he enjoys every moment that they spend together. 

Except Felix points out one late afternoon when they’re sitting across each other at Dimitri’s desk having lunch that Sylvain goes beyond his normal friendship acts with Dimitri—he takes Dimitri out on dates. The way Felix says it, a pinch to his brow, an embarrassed blush to his face like he’s unsure if he should’ve spoken at all, gives him pause. It makes Dimitri _think_. Sure, there were sometimes that it was just the two of them, but that meant nothing. Lunch dates or movie nights were common occurrences. Dimitri wouldn’t protest in the slightest if the others joined them, even _if_ there’s a hot flash of jealousy at the thought of it sometimes. 

“Yeah, okay,” Felix drawls, looking unimpressed. “You can talk yourself out of seeing those as dates, but what about when he spends the night?”

Dimitri’s mouth opens, closes, opens once more as his brows furrow. Sure, alright, sometimes they cuddle when they fall asleep at each other’s place, and Sylvain’s forgone using the guest room in favour of Dimitri’s bed, but that’s—that’s _normal_ , right? Sylvain’s mentioned doing that with his other friends—

“When’s the last time _you_ shared a bed with a friend, Dimitri?” Felix asks, voice slightly sharper than he intends it to be, based on the slight wince he gives. He doesn’t back down, though, stares at Dimitri despite his expression telling him he wants to be looking anywhere else. 

Dimitri blinks. “. . .Oh.”

Felix scoffs, crossing his arms and looking away. “‘ _Oh_ ,’” he echoes, unsympathetic. “When are you going to ask him out _properly_ , then?”

“I don’t—.” He stops short. Surely _, surely_ , Sylvain can’t feel the same way about him that Dimitri does. There had to be a reason for his behaviour. It’s barely been a month since the night they were first reunited. Maybe Sylvain thinks Dimitri’s not getting enough social interaction with his friends; maybe he likes spending one on one time with Dimitri so they can talk about their shared distaste of driving cars. “ _Maybe—_ “

“Stop. Don’t start spiralling.” Felix is scowling. Dimitri’s jaw clicks shut as he looks back to him briefly. “Just talk to him about it at the bar tonight.”

“ _Talk_ about it?” he asks, voice hitching. “About what?”

“About this obsessive crush you have on him,” Felix states. “I was able to talk to Annette about _mine_ , you can certainly talk to Sylvain about _yours_.”

Dimitri wants to argue about that. Felix and Annette had a mutual attraction to one another, he’s certain that there’s no way Sylvain thinks of Dimitri as anything more than a friend, _certainly_ not attractive enough to wish to be anything more than that. He opens his mouth to tell Felix as such, though he isn’t able to get a word out before Felix is rolling his eyes, standing up. 

He leaves Dimitri by himself to dwell, only calling an, “I’ll pick you up later,” over his shoulder before he leaves the office. 

Felix’s order to not overthink does nothing for him. He spends the rest of the day fretting, worrying over something he’s still not fully convinced is true. By the time he’s sliding into the backseat of Felix’s car, Annette cheerfully greeting him from the passenger seat, his palms are clammy. 

Sylvain spots them first from where they trail behind Annette, who lifts her arm above her head to wave, as if Sylvain’s eyes didn’t immediately land on Dimitri first because of his height. He’s dressed in one of his floral prints again, but this time he’s not wearing an undershirt, the buttons only up so far as for him to claim to be _decent_. Dimitri’s gaze lands on the visible muscle of his chest, the hair dusting across his freckled skin, and he barely pays any attention to the conversation until Annette declares she’s going to go greet the others and drags Felix away. 

His face burns with a blush as he wrenches his gaze up. If Sylvain has caught him staring, he doesn’t show it, leaning comfortably against the bar, his eyes on the stage where Hilda’s managed to drag Marianne into a duet. 

Dimitri has always known Sylvain’s attractive. It used to be a source of nuisance in their high school days, where their time together would be interrupted by countless people, all vying for his attention. Sylvain’s boyish good looks have aged well, giving him a handsome face and build that anyone would be able to look at easily. Dimitri’s gaze follows the line of his jaw, the freckles that are visible on his profile, before his eyes start to dip lower once more and—

“I believe I need a drink,” he manages to choke out.

Sylvain glances over, raising an eyebrow in surprise as his lips curl up in a smile. “Yeah? That bad a day, huh? What’re you thinking?”

“I—I don’t know,” he admits, hastily looking away. He feels like he’s on fire, and just hopes that the dull orange glow from the tiki torches don’t give his blush away. “What do—what do you reccomend?”

“Only the best,“ Sylvain tells him with a wink. “Hold on, I’ll snag Raph’s attention for you.”

Dimitri watches as Sylvain flags down the bartender, ordering a drink with a convoluted name and tacking on, “I could go for a water, Raph,” as an afterthought. The bartender gives him a mock salute, smiling easy, and Dimitri startles as he processes the second drink order. 

“You’re not drinking?”

Sylvain shakes his head, loose waves bouncing in curls about his forehead with the movement. “Hilda decided to pregame drink, so I figured I’d stay sober tonight to make sure everyone gets home alright,” he explains, a smile still tilting his lips. He glances over when the bartender returns with a bottle of water, and the same brightly coloured drink Dimitri’s seen in Sylvain’s hands countless times whenever they’re here. There’s a pink flower resting within it, next to the straw, and Sylvain gathers both drinks before proffering the glass to him, winking. “Don’t hold back on my behalf—I want to see if you like it or not.” 

Dimitri doesn’t have it in him to explain that he won’t be able to taste it, but he takes a long drink of it, delighting in the way Sylvain’s eyes light up when he tells him it’s not quite what he expected. Which is true. The drink’s shockingly cold, and _fizzy_. He must make a face of some sort, because Sylvain snorts before dissolving quickly into laughter. 

“What is _that_ look for?”

“It’s _fizzy_ ,” Dimitri says, as if that explains anything.

Sylvain just keeps laughing. “Yeah, it’s _carbonated_ , Dimitri, that’s what happens.”

He grumbles, not really upset, and takes another drink. Sylvain’s still grinning when he looks back up. 

“So, what happened to make you determined to drink tonight? If you get drunk enough, Hilda’s going to drag you on stage.”

“Ah, nothing’s happened,” Dimitri says. He clears his throat, and before Sylvain can question him further, he blurts, “You look quite handsome tonight.”

Sylvain blinks, obviously startled, and— _oh_. Red colours high on his cheekbones, blush spreading across his face as he looks at Dimitri. “What?”

“Your—,” _everything_ , “—outfit. And hair. They look nice. _You_ look nice.”

He wants to turn and walk out of the bar as the words fall from his lips, stilted and awkward. His face feels like it’s on fire, heat rushing through him. Sylvain’s just _staring_ , disbelief on his face, before he blinks it away, a smile smoothing across his face. It’s not a genuine smile. Dimitri bites the inside of his cheek at its appearance. 

“ _Dimitri_ ,” Sylvain all but purrs. “You can’t tell a guy that so sincerely. I might get the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea?” he questions, hesitantly, his fingers going to the flower in his drink to fiddle with it. 

Sylvain’s hands drop at the movement, eyes tracking slowly back up to his face. He’s still slightly red, but the fake smile is gone from his expression. “That you’re trying to woo me,” he says. 

“ _Woo_ you?” Dimitri’s voice almost cracks, raising an octave, and he hastily takes another drink, trying to mask it.

Sylvain quirks a brow, curiosity dancing within the warm honeyed gaze he’s giving Dimitri. “Would you rather I’d say you’re trying to seduce me?”

Dimitri splutters at that, spitting his drink, face aflame, ignoring the way Sylvain snorts before patting him gently as he coughs. 

“It was a joke,” Sylvain says, easily, once Dimitri’s calmed his coughs. “I know I’m not your type.” 

And _oh_ , how wrong he is. Dimitri clears his throat, chewing the inside of his cheek. Up on the stage, Hilda’s dragged Claude up, and their offkey, drunken rendition of a song Dimitri’s never heard of does _nothing_ to steel his nerves, but he still straightens his shoulders, sets his jaw. 

“I wouldn’t want to—to _seduce_ you,” Dimitri manages. 

Sylvain chuckles, the sound slightly grating, off from his normal amused laugh. He sounds resigned, almost sad, and the smile he gives Dimitri matches it. “I know, buddy, I wasn’t—“

Dimitri speaks first, before Sylvain can finish whatever self-deprecating thing he’s prepared to admit.

“I would much rather ask you on a date first, to seduce you after.”

Dimitri winces immediately at his word choice, the way he just _blurts_ it. Not an ounce of suaveness to his voice. His fingers tighten around the plastic straw in his grasp, causing it to creak before it completely breaks on a bend, and he stares down at it in disdain, too afraid to look at Sylvain, who’s gone quiet. 

“You—. _What?_ ”

Another wince. Dimitri cringes away. “I didn’t—. I’m not—.” He huffs, tired of his own tongue being tied. He forces himself to look up, holding Sylvain’s gaze despite the burn that’s reached the tips of his ears. “I would like to take you on a proper date.”

Sylvain’s lips part in a tiny _o_ , red colouring high on his cheeks. His eyes flick over Dimitri’s face, as if trying to suss out a deeper meaning before his hands drop to the drink still in his grasp. Something flashes across his face, gone before Dimitri can decipher it as he exhales a soft, almost laugh.

“It’s already hitting you that hard?”

“Wh—?”

An easy grin spreads across his face, that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t take you for that much of a lightweight, Dimi, c’mon let’s go outside and get you some air.”

Sylvain thinks he’s already drunk. Dimitri’s face burns with more than just embarrassment. Humiliation and anger course through him, heating his blood. The only reason he had said what he did was associated with having too much to drink, despite him only being halfway through the fizzy, pink abomination in his hands. 

“I’m not—“

Sylvain’s hand pats his shoulder gently, rubbing a soothing circle against him, the warmth from his hand clear even through the barrier of his sweater. “We’ll clear your head, so you’re thinking straight again, alright?”

Dimitri’s lips twitch in a frown, and he barely stops himself from shattering the glass in his hand from how his grip tightens. “Sylvain, I’m _not_ drunk.” 

Sylvain gives him that smile, the fake one that sets his blood cold. His hand is warm where it soothes up Dimitri’s arm. “It’s alright, Dimitri. If you were sober, you wouldn’t be saying that.” 

It’s like their first meeting all over again. Sylvain storming in like a whirlwind, leaving Dimitri confused, but the warmth he had felt that first night has fizzled out of control to something _worse_ . He can’t believe that Sylvain thinks that all of the feelings he’s built up over _months_ are only there because he’s had too much to drink. It’s—

“ _Unbelievable_ ,” he manages. 

“I know, I can’t—“

“Not you! Well, _yes_ , you but—“ Dimitri’s suddenly aware his voice is raising, past what is probably acceptable for a friendly bar chat, especially since the music playing over the speakers is purposely dimmed to highlight the singers on the stage, “—is it that unbelievable to you that someone could actually _care_ for you, Sylvain? That you deserve someone who cares for you?"

Based on the look Sylvain gives him, widened eyes, a startled recoil, the answer is _yes_. Dimitri hates that—hates that he understands where Sylvain’s coming from, based on everything he’s been led to believe in his life. He wants to pour his heart and soul out, tell him he’s more than capable of being loved, that he’s everything good that Dimitri’s needed in the years since his entire life crumpled apart in a bloody wreck that took half his sight. His mouth parts, readying to do just that, but he makes the mistake of looking beyond Sylvain, at the other bar patrons, where the attention is solely on them. 

The words lodge in his throat. He turns to the bar to set his glass down, flinching completely when he uses too much force and it shatters against the wood. 

“You’re right, I need some air,” he manages to say, voice weak, and he turns on his heel.

Sylvain doesn’t even try to stop him. 

Perhaps that’s what hurts the most. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed my mind, this is going to be 5 chapters, and the rating change _is_ going to take place next chapter instead. 
> 
> I have to thank [TK](https://twitter.com/cntrlvaneau) again for reading over this and don’t worry, she’s already yelled at me for the cliffhanger lmao


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the rating has changed this chapter to explicit!

Sylvain barely hears anything over the rush of blood in his ears as he watches Dimitri stalk out of the bar. Barely hears Rapheal ask if he’s hurt, the murmur of _I’ll cover the broken glass_ merely a reflex that falls from his lips. 

It’s only when a startlingly warm hand grabs his forearm, grip _tight_ , that all his senses come back to him. He turns to see the furious stare on Felix’s face, his nails digging into the flesh of his arm, sure to leave angry, red crescents behind. His lips are contorted in a scowl that Sylvain used to only associate with Glenn as children—Felix was always so quick to cry when he was angry, but he’s grown out of that.

They’ve all grown out of a lot of things. 

Dimitri’s demanded questions echo through his head like a drumbeat—or perhaps that’s just his heartbeat, pounding in time with every circling thought.

_Deserve someone who cares_.

Sylvain wants to laugh, wants to cry, but all he can do is look at Felix from where he’s marched up to his side, a demand of his own already lashed from his tongue.

“What did you _do?_ ”

“He’s—.” He looks back to the front doors, still shut, Dimitri already gone from the sight of the windows. He shakes his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips in a nervous gesture, too fearful to look too in depth into what Dimitri’s said. “He drank too much, he didn’t know what he was saying.”

“We’ve been here for fifteen minutes, Sylvain.” The look Felix gives him is one of pure murder, eyes hardened into shards of glass that burn through whatever’s left of Sylvain’s soul. “What did he say?”

“He said—.” He stops, still hearing the ringing of _someone actually cares_ in his head. He shakes it, pushing a hand through his hair, looking down at the soaked plastic flower sitting in a pool of alcohol and shattered glass at his feet. “He said he wanted to take me on a date.”

“And you told him he was _drunk_ as an answer?” Felix asks, voice snappish. 

“Well, I—“

“You’re an even bigger idiot than I thought you were when we were kids.” Felix barrells on, anger radiating off of every inch of him, his glare _lethal_. “An absolute moron—do you know how long it took him to build up the courage to ask you that?”

Sylvain startles, lips parting, the words _that’s not possible_ on the tip of his tongue but stopped short by how pained Dimitri looked at the idea that Sylvain believes he’s not capable of having anyone care for him _for_ him. Felix scoffs, looking at him like he can’t fathom Sylvain’s track of thoughts. But Dimitri _caring_ for him, enough to want to date Sylvain is unthinkable, unimaginable. Dimitri, who’s far too kind for his own good, who always apologizes to Sylvain when he calls, as if _he_ ’s the burden, not Sylvain. 

“He. . .” Sylvain trails off, unsure what he can possibly say. 

“You talking to him is always the highlight of his day,” Felix states, his voice still full of fury. “Even before Annie reintroduced us, he always talked about how easy it was for him to fall asleep after watching your stupid livesteams.” 

“But that’s—“ 

“Don’t you dare say it’s different,” he snaps. “You’ve been taking him on _dates_ , Sylvain!” 

“But those aren’t true dates, I don’t—. He can’t _possibly—.”_

“I’m not repeating myself.” Felix pins him with a level stare, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go after him, you idiot.”

Sylvain’s feet move on pure instinct as soon as the order falls from Felix’s lips. He moves, quickly, shouting over his shoulder at Raph to throw everything on his tab as he pushes his way out onto the street. 

It’s still early in the night. People are out and about, heading to their bars and clubs of choice, moving in small packs that Sylvain weaves his way through. He has no idea which way Dimitri’s gone—no sign of him standing above the heads of the people he passes—but Sylvain has a gut instinct to follow the sidewalk winding away from the busy bar streets. He doesn’t even care that there are people watching him as he turns and starts running. 

There’s a chill in the air. Lights dye the streets in a multitude of hues from the neon signs he passes underneath to the orange glows of the streetlamps overhead. Most of the people he passes give him looks for more than his sprint—his shirt’s still unbuttoned, and the wind bites at his exposed skin in a way that promises rain. He wonders, idly, in the depths of his mind, if he’s somehow able to convince himself the pain radiating throughout his ribs is from the cold air in his lungs, and not from the emotions fighting him from within. 

It’s by chance he spots him. 

Dimitri’s not that much taller than Sylvain, but still stands above the people milling about. The streetlight above him has made his hair look pure white, a beacon calling out for Sylvain and Sylvain alone. He’s stopped at a corner, standing away from a small cluster of people who are whispering and staring directly at him. Sylvain feels the first warmth of white-hot jealousy go through him that he tries to push down. 

The light changes, the walk sign flashing, and Sylvain knows he’s not close enough to reach out to him.

“ _Dimitri_!” His voice comes out hoarse, stuck in his throat. The people waiting to walk glance to him, mumurming amongst themselves as they start crossing the road. Dimitri’s shoulders tense, drawing up close to his shoulders, but he makes no motion to start moving.

Sylvain reaches out when he gets close, hand brushing gently on his elbow. Dimitri refuses to look at him, turn to face him, which Sylvain understands but—

A sniffle catches him off guard as he gets a firmer grip on Dimitri’s arm, tugging him to face him. 

Sylvain's heart shatters instantly at the sight of tear tracks, the twist of his lips as Dimitri struggles to keep their trembling at bay. He brings his free hand up, scrubbing at his face, still refusing to look at Sylvain. He’s distraught, angry, and he has every right to be, but _crying_ isn’t what Sylvain anticipated, isn’t what he’s prepared for. 

Sylvain’s turned into a sympathy crier over the past few years. He had grown immune to sniffling and sobbing as a child, always there to wipe Felix’s snotty nose with the pack of tissues Glenn foisted upon them, knowing a sobbing fit was inevitable. Sylvain’s tolerance to tears fell out the window after the accident, once he had stopped sleeping around and breaking up with people weekly. The sympathetic crier side of himself was a new discovery the year he met Annette, whose first college boyfriend had broken her heart in the worst of ways, and they had huddled up on the couch in his shitty studio crying together over pints of ice cream. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, the burning in his eyes a telltale sign that tears are inevitable. “Fuck, I made you _cry_.”

Dimitri’s breath hitches—most likely due to the break in Sylvain’s voice—and he looks over startled, lashes clumped together, eyes still brimming. Sylvain’s hands move, reaching up, cupping his face, and Dimitri lets him, leans in just a bit. 

“These are—they’re not—.” His words catch and he shakes his head in a small bout of movement, still pressed between Sylvain’s palms. “I’m _frustrated_. You didn’t make me cry.”

“I made you frustrated, though,” Sylvain manages. “Which means I’m responsible for your tears.” His own tears fall with every blink and he watches Dimitri track the movement, his face contorting.

“ _You’re_ crying,” he says, voice still hitching on uneven breaths.

Sylvain ignores it, thumbs brushing at Dimitri’s cheeks, smearing salt tracks away. “Goddess, Dimitri, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—“ Dimitri sniffles again, breath a slight sob as he brings his hand up to scrub at his face. “You’re going to make me cry worse if you keep crying.”

A noise bubbles out of Sylvain, half sob, half laugh. He tips forward, resting his forehead against Dimitri’s shoulders. Dimitri’s hands raise on what Sylvain thinks is instinct alone, settling against his spine, warm through the polycotton of his shirt. 

“What a pair we make—Annie turned me into a sympathy crier years ago.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dimitri chokes out, the sound a hiccuped laugh, and it startles Sylvain into a laugh himself as Dimitri’s palm smooths up, landing on the nape of his neck, fingers just barely brushing against his hair. 

“Now I’m making you _swear_? Felix is honestly going to kill me.”

The hand on Sylvain’s neck tightens, just a fraction, a possessive grip that sends a shudder through him before he can repress it. Dimitri mistakes it for a chilled shiver, tugging him closer, wrapping his other arm firmer around him.

“I wouldn’t let him.”

They’re still standing at the sidewalk’s edge, the walk sign flashing down sending a glinting light across the side of Dimitri’s profile when Sylvain draws back just enough to look at him. Dimitri’s hand stays firm where it is, his arm warm against the small of his back. He’s still got red under his eyes, tear tracks smeared down his cheeks, but his tears have subsided, which makes Sylvain’s lips curl up in a tiny smile.

“If I’m fighting him for Annie’s honour, and you’re fighting him for mine, who wins?”

Dimitri huffs a tiny laugh. “I’m not sure.”

“I am—Felix can and will easily kick my ass, but I think you could take him.”

The laugh he gets this time is genuine, preceded by a tiny sniffle as Dimitri tries to clear his throat around it. Sylvain straightens up, letting Dimitri’s hand drop, though the track it takes down his back is slow, steady, his eyes unwavering on his face as Sylvain rubs a hand against his own face, clearing away the salt stains on his skin.

There are people still meandering down the street, their voices dulled to a mild din as all Sylvain focuses on is Dimitri. It’s _unfair_. Even with reddened eyes, snotty and still mostly upset, Dimitri looks great, his eyes filled with an uncertain hope as Sylvain looks at him.

“I really messed up, didn’t I?” Sylvain asks, voice rough, caught in his throat.

Dimitri quirks a brow, the slightest edge to his voice. “Because you accused me of being drunk when I asked you on a date? Not at all.”

Sylvain can’t help the roll of his eyes. “Can you blame me? Dimi, I’m not the type of guy you ask on dates.”

“Says who?”

“Literally everyone I’ve ever spoken to.”

“You’re an awful liar, Sylvain.” His mouth opens, arguments at the ready, but Dimitri continues without giving him a chance to speak. “You’ve attracted only the kindest—though I think Mercedes might have been too quick to judge _me_ on that sentiment—but it’s obvious with who you’ve surrounded yourself with. It’s obvious how much you care about them and how much _they_ care for you.” Dimitri shifts, tugging him closer, hands warm against Sylvain’s back. “You’ve worked so hard to stop the cycle of pain your father and brother put you in to do everything in your ability to put good and kindness into this world, bringing even the saddest and loneliest people joy on nights where they can’t sleep.”

Sylvain’s lips part, a half-formed argument stopped before it can even have the chance to escape. The sincerity in every word Dimitri speaks seeps into his bones, throwing him off kilter. His brain feels like it’s shut down, that it needs to reboot to process everything he’s been told. 

Even in the dimmed light, he watches as Dimitri’s face darkens with a fierce blush, staining his cheeks a brilliant scarlet as he clears his throat, glancing away. “I did not mean to wax poetic at you,” he says, “but I think you need to be reminded with words more often about how much you’re loved.”

Sylvain’s not sure why the panic he feels in every ounce of his being is stomped out firmly with the statement, but it is, and he’s still left speechless. Every insincere line, every excuse he’s used in the past, all falls short. He’s not sure what he _can_ say, to combat Dimitri—and he’s not entirely sure if he wants to fight him at all. There’s still tears drying on his face, still a burn in the back of his throat that comes back with a fierce vengeance as he processes _how much you’re loved_. 

Dimitri, for his part, either can tell Sylvain’s rebooting, or takes pity on him. He looks back to him, straightening his shoulders. His palms are still on his back, thumbs smoothing nonsensical patterns into the bunched fabric of his shirt. When he speaks next, his words are firm, confidence radiating off of him. 

“Sylvain—I would really like to take you on a date. Will you let me?”

He’s nodding before he finds the words, hands landing heavy on Dimitri’s arms, squeezing through the soft fabric of his jacket. He manages to remember how to speak, a quick, “ _Yes_ ,” rushing off his tongue as his nodding speeds up. 

Dimitri smiles, brilliantly bright. “I’m glad.”

“Are you _sure_ , though? I know that—“

“ _Sylvain_.” His thoughts, quickly spiralling, stop short. Dimitri’s smile is softer, warmer, still dripping with affection. “Of course I’m sure.”

A crack overhead startles both of them, thunder rippling through the sky overhead. There’s no rain, yet, but the others on the street surrounding them are quickly retreating into the bars and clubs to escape the inevitable. Dimitri takes a step back, as if realizing just how close he had been to Sylvain, and Sylvain feels the loss of his warmth like a phantom pain, but Dimitri’s smile tells him it’s not the end, not yet.

“We should get going, before it starts to rain.”

_We_. The thought of that fills Sylvain’s chest, warmth blooming from his heart to spread across his ribs. “Fuck, I’m an idiot,” he mumbles, wiping at his face. His voice is still thick, and he coughs slightly, as Dimitri shakes his head, not needing an explanation. 

“You’re not.” 

“I _am_. Felix will be more than happy to remind you of that if we go back to the bar.”

Another shake of his head, this one slower, strands of golden hair falling over his face. “I would—rather not.” He sighs, tucking the strands of his fringe behind his ear, and Sylvain has a brief flash of jealousy go through him at the thought that _he_ could’ve done that. He steps closer, fingers reaching for Dimitri’s free hand, letting him close the gap, lace their fingers together, and the squeeze of his hand is a lifeline Sylvain’s never known he’s needed. “I don’t think your friend would like me going back after not paying for the glass I broke.”

Sylvain tries to snort, but it gets caught in his throat. His laugh sounds choked as he leans forward, knocking his head against Dimitri’s shoulder again. “You think _Raphael_ gives a shit about a broken glass?”

“I did—“

“Dimitri, I’ve broken at least five glasses since we started going there. _At least._ Don't ask me how many bottles. My threat to defend Annie with a drunken bar fight was not an empty one.” He draws back, delighting in the small smile that’s twitching at Dimitri’s lips. He really, _really_ wants to kiss him, but refrains. It’s his best trait, moving too fast, too soon, and he’s already messed this up once tonight. “Do you want to head back to my place and eat just a _ton_ of cookie dough ice cream?” 

Dimitri laughs at that, a startled little noise that takes him by surprise. “Ice cream?”

“I’ve probably got other junk food, but I’m just dreaming about that quart I’ve got in the freezer. You can watch me try to fight Izzy off from sticking her face in the container.”

“Actually. . .” Dimitri trails off, glancing away, biting down on his bottom lip, trying to quell a tiny smile. He seems to find his resolve, turning back, straightening his shoulders. “Actually, Sylvain, I was wondering if I might do something else.”

Sylvain quirks a brow. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“I’d like to kiss you, if I can.”

Oh. _Oh_. Sylvain’s nodding before his brain has a chance to catch up enough to speak. Dimitri’s smile steals his breath away before he even leans in to press their mouths together.

**.**

It’s Dimitri's fault, truly. Nothing that he could, or _would_ , blame Sylvain for.

Dimitri's the one who pushes the kiss farther than he should have, in _public_. Sylvain’s just more than happy to keep his hands on him as they linger at the corner of the street, waiting for the car he’s ordered to arrive. 

By the time the car’s pulled up, Dimitri’s lips are tingling, Sylvain’s bitten raw and red, his grin breathtaking. He feels awful for their driver, but Dimitri’s thoughts can’t be pulled too far from Sylvain long enough for the guilt to manifest. He hones in on the feeling of Sylvain's lips, brushing kisses across every inch of skin he can reach, moving the collar of Dimitri’s shirt to place light nips against his thundering pulse, grinning against him when Dimitri’s hands squeeze against his waist. When his hands slip up under his shirt, palms resting against his stomach, Dimitri’s whole body jerks, and Sylvain laughs breathlessly into his mouth, placing a placatingly chaste kiss to his lips before moving on again. His hands are warm, fingers spreading across the expanse of his skin, rough calluses from years of working with ovens and hot plates at the bakery catching against his skin. 

The sky opens while their poor driver brings them back to Sylvain’s apartment, thunder cresting in a loud rumble before the rain starts, all at once. Water crashes down on the windows in a torrential downpour, promising a chill as soon as they step outside, but it’s hard for Dimitri to feel anything but warm, half straddled by Sylvain in the cramped backseat of the car.

The rain is still pouring when the driver pulls up to the curb outside Sylvain’s apartment. The streets have been abandoned in favour of everyone sheltering inside. Sylvain ushers Dimitri under the awning to save him from the worst of it while he waits, watching as Sylvain hurriedly pays their driver. He busies himself with his phone, trying to distract from sight of Sylvain’s shirt starting to rapidly cling to him as it gets wet from the rain. Felix had sent a text before Sylvain had even called the Uber, but he had been more than happy to ignore him in favour of Sylvain’s hands on his waist, his own snarling in soft, cinnabar strands. Now, though, he's distracted enough to feel the slightest hint of guilt at ignoring him, reading the text three times before he properly processes it.

**Felix Fraldarius** Did the idiot find you?

**Me** Yes! We’ve talked. 

Will you make sure the others get home safely, please?

**Felix Fraldarius** Ugh. Fine.

He glances up just in time to see Sylvain in front of him, hand reaching for his. He tangles their fingers together, skin slightly chilled from the water clinging to his skin. 

“I am ninety percent sure the weather didn’t call for storms,” Sylvain says, but he’s smiling, lacing their fingers together as they head inside. “C’mon, lion, I’ve got warm sheets upstairs.”

The petname throws him, just slightly, but he doesn’t need any reason to follow Sylvain.

They’re back to kissing as soon as Sylvain fumbles his keys in the front door, Dimitri chasing after his mouth every time he pulls back to look at what he’s doing. When Sylvain gets the door opened, they both stumble in, the keys clattering to the ground as Sylvain boxes him up against the door, letting Dimitri’s teeth skirt down his neck, biting and licking alongside the kisses he presses against his skin.

Sylvain’s fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly. He’s out of breath, the dampness of his shirt causing Dimitri to feel every swell of his chest, pressed against his.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, and Dimitri pulls back, giving him a look. Sylvain smiles, slightly, that tiny, vulnerable smile he’d kiss away, except he’s speaking again already. “I just normally move too fast, too soon, and—“

His little speech is interrupted by the feeling of something warm twisting between their ankles, an incessant, loud _meow_ ringing up from their feet. Dimitri jolts as Sylvain glances down, lips twisting. Dimitri lets his head thud back against the door, sagging against it slightly, a laugh he’s unable to stop bubbling up his throat. 

Sylvain’s eyes narrow up at him, though he can see the smile he’s trying to bite back. “This is funny to you? My cat interrupting us?”

“She senses I’m taking advantage of you,” Dimitri says, grinning. “She’s trying to protect your honour.”

Sylvain snorts, bending down to scoop Izzy up into his arms. She starts purring immediately, eyeing Dimitri as if he’s an enemy she’s doing her best to get rid of. “Head to my room. I’ve got to throw some treats into the void to distract her.”

“Are you faster than she is?”

Sylvain hums, opening his mouth to answer, but instead gets a mouthful of fur as Izzy headbutts him to quiet him, meowing.

Dimitri’s still grinning. “Bedroom it is.”

He half listens to Sylvain muttering to the cat under his breath as he makes his way to the bedroom, hearing him head to the cupboard that holds the plethora of Izzy’s snacks. He’s been in it multiple times, has slept in Sylvain’s bed more times than he can count, but it’s different, this time. There’s an energy to the air, anticipation prickling his skin. The room itself is the same as always: small, but neatly arranged, his bed against the far wall with his desk at the end, his pointlessly uncomfortable chair pushed in. Dimitri wanders to it, only needing to take a few steps from the door to do so. His fingers smooth over the back of it, the worn, woven fabric, thinking about the last time he had been there, watching Sylvain playing before he had fallen asleep before the stream was even over.

And now he was here for a completely different reason. A reason that still has heat blooming across his face, burning throughout him, settling low in his stomach the more he thinks about it.

He doesn’t have much time to ponder what’s about to happen. Sylvain returns, the door all but slamming shut as he hisses an _Isabelle, no!_ under his breath. Dimitri turns from the chair, smiling when Sylvain sidles up, his arms winding around Dimitri’s waist, hands smoothing along the small of his back. He leans close, honeyed eyes soft, full of affection as he leans forward to brush gentle kisses along Dimitri’s cheeks. His own hands find a home between his shoulder blades, where the damp floral shirt still clings to his taught muscle.

“You’re still sure?” Sylvain asks, warm, wet breath ghosting along his ear. “We can stop—“

“No.” Dimitri’s hands tighten in the fabric of his shirt, bunching it at Sylvian’s shoulders. “I want this.”

He thinks of Sylvain’s words about moving too fast, too soon, but they’ve been dancing around one another for weeks, days ticking by at an agonizing pace where they could’ve been happy together, had they not both been so stubborn. He releases one shoulder, fingers smoothing up to tug at Sylvain’s hair, earning a low groan and a nip to the ear.

“I’ll tell you if I don’t like it,” he assures, pressing a kiss to Sylvain’s cheek. “I swear.”

The kiss is as effective as Dimitri hopes, soothing Sylvain into slotting their mouths together again. It doesn’t take him long to move away, smearing messy kisses down his jaw. Dimitri doesn’t let him get much farther, keeping a hand in his hair to tug his head back so he can scrape his teeth down along the length of his neck, leaving tiny, possessive bites along his skin that won’t be easily hidden. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sylvain hisses, when Dimitri draws back. His eyes are lidded, pupils blown black. One of his hands floats up, settling against his cheek, and he groans when Dimitri immediately turns his head to nuzzle kisses into it. “Fuck, _look_ at you,” he breathes. “C’mere.” He doesn’t give Dimitri a chance to argue, lips smoothing along the path his thumb takes.

“ _Sylvain_.” Dimitri squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his hands to Sylvain’s waist, squeezing against the sharp jut of his hip bone. “ _Please._ ”

“Bed?” Sylvain asks, breath warm against his neck, worrying a mark just under the hinge of his jaw, but he stops, tensing just briefly. Dimitri’s unsure why, until he lets out a low laugh, the chuckle sending waves of heat rolling through him as he brings his lips back up to his ear. "I guess you truly are a fan first, hm?"

_The chair_. Heat bursts across Dimitri’s face. "Syl—" 

He cuts him off with a searing kiss, pushing Dimitri back until he stumbles into the chair. Sylvain moves with him, their kiss not breaking at all during his fall, until he draws back to press sloppy kisses down along his jaw, nipping down the slope of his neck.

Dimitri's hands grip his hips, but Sylvain moves them, fingers lacing with his to press them to the armrests. When he draws back, his eyes are pure pupil, only a thin ring of brown visible around them.

"Are you going to be good?" he asks, voice low and husky. It sends a shiver down Dimitri's spine and he squeezes his eyes shut, nodding, a whimper lodged in his throat. "Eyes on me, then."

It takes him a moment. Sylvain's hands roam down his sides, fingers burning where they press. He tugs open buttons on his trek down, _down_ , and when he tugs his shirt from his slacks, Dimitri's straining up, trying to get more contact. Sylvain clicks his tongue, hands disappearing, and Dimitri _does_ whimper, eyes flying open to land on him. He's kneeling in the space between the spread of his knees, his hands running up his calves to rest against his thighs, rubbing soothing circles above the fabric.

"There we go. Think you can do that for me, sweetheart? Keep your gaze right on me?"

Dimitri feels like he's on fire. He nods, the movement jerky, and he gasps when Sylvain's hand smooths higher. He lets out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating in the quiet of the room.

"Already this excited just from kissing?"

"It's— _you_ ," he manages on a shaky exhale, trying to heed Sylvain's words on keeping his eye on him. "Because of you."

He's grateful he hasn't squeezed his eyes shut. Sylvain's heated gaze has been solely on his cock, visibly hard beneath his slacks, but as soon as Dimitri utters the words, he watches Sylvain blink, startling. His gaze darts up, meeting his. A dusky red spots high on his cheeks, embarrassment flooding down across his neck.

"What?" 

There's no seduction, no suave lilt to his tone. Just pure, genuine surprise. Dimitri grips the armrests hard enough he fears he might break them.

"It's because it's you," he says, voice steadier this time. "I only want _you_." 

The surprise that flashes across his face, as if Dimitri wants him for _any_ other reason, makes his fingers unclench from the precariously tight grip he’s got on the armrest. His hand moves, brushing hair from Sylvain’s forehead, holding his gaze steady. 

He exhales a shaky breath, entranced by how Sylvain’s pupil bleeds across his eye, leaving only a thin ring of burning amber to stare up at him. “Just you, Sylvain,” he whispers. “I’ve told you that already, haven’t I?”

Sylvain surges up, in a movement so quick it has Dimitri’s other hand tightening its grip, his fingers dropping to dig into Sylvain’s waist as their lips crash together in a messy kiss. When he pulls away, a thin, gossamer strand of saliva connects them, breaking when Sylvain drops back down, movements hurrying. He pushes Dimitri’s shirt out of the way, lips and teeth tracking a trail down his stomach until he can bite a mark right above his waistband, smoothing his tongue over it as he works his pants down just far enough to free his cock.

His ears are pounding with the sound of his rushing blood, so much so that Dimitri can’t catch whatever Sylvain murmurs when his hand wraps around the base, his lips brushing along the underside with his inaudible words. Dimitri’s already overwhelmed, but he keeps his eyes on him as Sylvain licks a stripe from base to tip, looking up at him through his lashes. He grins, briefly, when he spots Dimitri’s eyes on him, flashing him a wink and pressing an unreasonably chaste kiss to the tip before his lips part and he swallows Dimitri down in one go.

Dimitri’s not sure what he tries to say, be it Sylvain’s name or a prayer to the goddess, but he throws his head back, hands gripping the armrests tight enough his knuckles go white. Sylvain’s mouth and throat open around him, the warmth wetness fluttering as his nose nestles in the coarse hairs at the base before he pulls back up. The sounds that come from him are more filthy than anything Dimitri’s heard before, sloppy and messy as Sylvain’s hand follows the path his mouth made. He clicks his tongue and Dimitri’s chin drops to his heaving chest.

“Good boy,” he says, voice already raspy. “Eyes on me.”

Dimitri doesn’t even have a chance to try to formulate a response before Sylvain’s swallowing him back down. 

Dimitri wouldn’t have been able to tear his eyes away even if he wanted to. Watching the way Sylvain’s head moves against him is nearly as intoxicating as when he notices the shift of his shoulder. He has one hand pinning Dimitri’s hips against the chair so he can’t thrust up into his mouth, the other Dimitri couldn’t place, until he watches the fabric at Sylvain’s shoulder bunch and shift with movement and realizes all at once Sylvain’s _touching himself_ , getting off on getting _Dimitri_ off.

A strangled whine falls from his lips at the realization. Sylvain looks up, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, clumping his lashes together. He looks breathtaking, his lips stretched around Dimitri, spots of colour high on his cheeks, hair sticking to his forehead. It becomes too much, too quickly. His release crests with no warning, the only thing he’s able to do is make an aborted attempt at Sylvain’s name to _try_ to warn him, but Sylvain holds him firm, burying Dimitri’s entire cock in his mouth and swallowing as his release crashes down. Sylvain’s mouth stays around him, throat working as he swallows around him, Dimitri’s whimpers and gasps sounding far away to his own ears, only focusing on the feeling of Sylvain’s groan vibrating around him, pushing him to the pleasure pain of overstimulation.

A sharp crack makes Dimitri's ears ring and it takes him a moment, still too caught up in release, to realize what’s happened, until he feels hot breath against his inner thigh and pairs it with the sound of Sylvain's airy laughter. He unfurls his fingers from the chair, blinking his eyes open, and realizes all at once why Sylvain's laughing when the plastic in his hand clatters to the floor below.

Dimitri feels himself turn red for an entirely different reason, embarrassment strumming through him, but once Sylvain's shoulders stop trembling with his chuckles, he presses a kiss to his thigh, resting his cheek against it. He looks up at him, eyes burning with warmth and affection, the quirk of his swollen lips amused. His cheeks are flushed red, sweat curling short strands about his face. 

He looks _beautiful_.

"My poor chair," Sylvain murmurs, his voice raw and— _Dimitri_ did that. Made him sound like that. Made the shine that glimmers on his bottom lip, which he sticks out in a mocking pout. "How am I to survive?"

"I am so terribly sorry." Dimitri's still trying to catch his breath, and Sylvain laughs again, sliding up from his knees to press him back into the chair, silencing him with a kiss. "I'll replace it—,” he says between kisses, slow and languid as they are. 

Sylvain snorts softly, moving his lips away to nose against the soft spot behind his ear. "Don't worry about it. That was incredibly hot."

“‘ _Hot_ ,’” he echoes in disbelief, even as Sylvain tugs his pants down the rest of the way.

Sylvain grins, reaching to lace their fingers together, tugging him up. “Yeah. Definitely. Wonder what else those hands could snap in half.”

“ _Sylvain_ —“

“C’mon.” His voice is still rough and he slips his own jeans down, kicking them off. He shrugs out of his shirt and Dimitri's eyes float along the length of his body, following the path of hair that dusts his chest to the trail under his naval and _further_ , feeling a traitorous twitch from his cock at the sight of Sylvain's.

Sylvain, who has definitely noticed, stepping forward to push Dimitri's shirt the rest of the way off his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his temple before murmuring, low and heated, “Come to bed, my lion.”

Dimitri feels an almost-growl rip through him at the order, helpless to disobey as Sylvain guides him along, letting him settle against the sheets.

"Good?" Sylvain asks, tone wavering, still desperate for the reassurance.

Dimitri reaches up, tenderly brushing the hair from his eyes, giving a nod. "Good."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip Sylvain’s shitty ikea desk chair


	5. five

Sylvain wakes to a weight thrown atop him, feeling far too warm. There’s hair in his mouth, sweat gathered behind his knees and the bend of his elbows, but he feels undeniably happy, arms tight around Dimitri, who sleeps steadily even when Sylvain pulls his head back to spit out golden strands. 

Based on the light peeking through the edge of the curtain, it’s still early in the morning. His phone is. . .somewhere. Probably still in his pants, tossed on the floor. He grimaces when he thinks about the mess, craning his head back; Dimitri immediately nuzzles closer, nose pressed into the hollow of his throat, sleeping steadily, instinctually trying to keep Sylvain close. Their clothes are in a pile near the end of the bed, next to the broken plastic that used to be his chair’s armrests. 

He really should try to get to his phone, to see if the others made it home safely last night, but Dimitri’s still sleeping, his breathing even, interspersed with indelicately soft snores every so often. Sylvain can’t help himself from smoothing a hand up his back, pressing a kiss to his forehead. It’s still unbearably warm, but he can’t fathom the idea of getting out of the bed—getting away from Dimitri—just quite yet.

He closes his eyes, resting his cheek against the crown of Dimitri’s hair, relishing the moment. He’s terrified that once Dimitri wakes, everything will come crashing down, despite the logical part of his mind telling him otherwise. He knows what Dimitri’s said, knows Dimitri would never lie to him, but there’s still that doubt, festering in the back of his head, screaming at him that he’s not good enough for him, not good enough for anyone. 

Dimitri shifts, lips brushing Sylvain’s neck. His voice rumbles out of him, sleep thick and gravelly, a tone that makes Sylvain shiver.

“You’re thinking too loudly.”

“I have no thoughts,” he says, a reflex.

The wrong choice, based on how Dimitri’s lips purse against his skin, a small grumble coming from him as he pulls away just far enough to peer up at him. 

He looks radiant, in the low light, pale sunbeams illuminating him in a gentle glow. His eyes are half-hidden behind the mess of his hair, and Sylvain’s fingers reach up to brush it back, tucking the loose strands behind his ear. Dimitri presses into his palm, regardless, and warmth blooms through his chest.

“You’re worried,” Dimitri says, brow furrowing just slightly. He shifts, rolling off of Sylvain to land on his side, tugging Sylvain along with him so they’re facing one another, cheeks smushed against the pillows. “What’s wrong?”

_Nothing_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. Honest communication isn’t his strongest skill, something he is constantly reminded of by his therapist. With Dimitri, he knows even _if_ the lie fell, it wouldn’t land. There’s not a chance in hell Dimitri would believe he’s fine if he can already parse Sylvain’s mood three seconds after waking up.

"I'm just. . .afraid," he admits, terrified to look up into earnest blue. Terrified he'll see exactly what he expects to. "I always mess these things up, even when I'm not trying to."

Dimitri's hand skirts up, palm resting against his cheek, warm and steady. His thumb strokes a soft arc along his cheekbone. "I'll admit, I haven't had any relationships that could be considered _serious_ before, but I think you have nothing to worry about. I _know_ you have nothing to worry about."

Sylvain huffs, glancing up at him. Dimitri’s eyes are soft, a gentle smile on his face, thumb still caressing his cheek. “I’m still going to worry.”

Dimitri hums, brow furrowing. “You shouldn’t—I worry enough for both of us.”

“What are _you_ worried about?”

Dimitri makes a contemplative sound, moving his hand from Sylvain’s face to rest against the bed between them. Sylvain waits with a bated breath, eyes landing on Dimitri’s hand, wishing it was back in his grasp.

“I suppose, at this moment, I’m only worried about the leftover work I have.”

Sylvain’s eyes snap up to meet his, but Dimitri’s eyes are over his head, frown still creasing his face. Sylvain reaches out, pressing his thumb to the bridge of his nose, the furrowed skin, and he smiles when Dimitri’s face relaxes. Dimitri’s lips curl up, his fingers reaching to grasp Sylvain’s, tangling their fingers and dropping both to the sheets. 

“I was worried for awhile, about my feelings for you— _not_ because of you,” Dimitri says. “I just felt awful for developing a crush on you just through a computer screen."

Sylvain blinks. “Through a—?” He stops, puzzle pieces clicking together, remembering the first night he had met Dimitri again, the way he had stuttered and blushed when bringing up Sylvain’s channel. Even last night, his reaction when Sylvain had brought up him being a _fan_ first had been something he had thoroughly enjoyed, but hadn’t put too much thought into.

Until now. 

Dimitri’s blushing similarly now, a brilliant crimson spreading across his cheeks, splotching down his neck. His eyes dart around, as if his nerves are telling him not to look directly at Sylvain, even though he’s still holding his hand, fingers tightening. 

Sylvain can’t help the laugh that he lets out, starting out as nothing more than an undignified snort before he starts cackling. Dimitri makes an affronted noise, but Sylvain’s too busy falling into his laughing fit to focus on it.

“It isn’t funny! I didn’t want you to think I only cared about you because of your streams.”

Sylvain grins, stray chuckles bubbling up despite his best effort. “You thought I’d think you were out for me just because I have a fanbase?”

Dimitri’s face is still bright red, his lips twisted in a slight scowl as he jerks his head in a nod, hair bunching against the pillow his face is still squished against. Sylvain tightens his fingers around Dimitri’s hand, throwing a leg over his waist to press closer. 

"Dimitri, darling, little lion love, we are literally naked in bed together."

"I'm aware!" He huffs a breath, looking away, all but pouting. "I just felt. . .bad. Slightly creepy."

"You've never come off as creepy, trust me." Sylvain kisses the heated skin of his cheek. "What a pair we make, though.”

Dimitri snorts. “We’re both fools.”

“Mmn.” Another kiss to his cheek, then to the tip of Dimitri’s nose, just to hear his soft laugh. “We’re too stubborn.”

Dimitri hums, nuzzling against his temple. “What time is it?”

“No idea, my phone’s in the mess on the floor. Izzy isn’t screaming for breakfast yet, though, so it’s probably before seven.”

He feels Dimitri’s lips curl into a smile. “‘The mess?’ It’s just our clothes.”

“Clothes, _and_ the armrests.”

Dimitri tenses. Sylvain draws back just far enough to see the red colouring his cheeks. He laughs, chasing the blush with his lips as it spreads down his neck.

“I told you not to worry about—“

A loud, interminable _yowl_ sounds through the door, interrupting his train of thoughts. His eyes narrow as Dimitri starts to chuckle, amusement coursing through him.

“She heard you,” Dimitri says, cheeks still flushed a dusty rose. “It’s breakfast time.”

“She is _so_ spoiled,” Sylvain groans, tossing the covers off himself to climb from the bed. He pulls fresh clothes from his dresser, hurriedly tugging his sweats on as Izzy’s meowing continues, climbing up in volume, pairing with the sound of her claws at the door. He glances over his shoulder, seeing Dimitri comfortably cocooned, unashamedly watching him dress. Sylvain grins at him. “You can borrow some clothes when you decide to get up, but we can have a lazy day, I think.”

Dimitri hums, nestling further into his burrow, and Sylvain gathers their clothes up, nudging the plastic pieces of the broken chair to the side, close to his trash can. He tosses Dimitri’s phone and wallet onto the foot of the bed, collecting his own device. A brief skim over the group chat shows everyone got home safe last night, which makes him feel a bit better about ditching them all.

Though, he has to admit, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again with how his morning’s started.

It’s just before seven, which explains Izzy’s insistence on breakfast. He sends a thumbs up to the group chat, sliding his phone in the waistband of his sweats. As he opens the door, Izzy is waiting, impatient mews falling out of her as she tangles between his ankles, trying to trip him up. He oversteps, shifting the bundle in his arms to shut the door behind him. She stares up at him, piercing blue eyes trying to scream about how forlorn she is, meows still loud and never ending. 

“ _You_ are a monster,” he tells her.

She meows.

“A _beast_.”

Another meow.

“Glad we agree.”

Izzy’s tail stands straight up, and she starts trotting down the hall towards her food plate. He detours, ignoring her meow of betrayal to deposit their clothes in the bathroom’s laundry hamper. She’s practically glaring by the time Sylvain actually gets her breakfast, via dumping the old dry food on her plate back into the container and scooping it back out. She spends the duration headbutting his calves, purr rumbling up to his ears until he sets the plate down and she busies herself with eating. 

He stretches his arms over his head, meandering to the kitchen. The view out the window tells him the downpour from last night lasted long enough into the night—he can see the street below, puddles lining the sidewalk, cars driving through miniature lakes gathered next to the curbs. The few people he sees hold umbrellas at the ready, their walks hurried to avoid the chance of getting completely soaked by a car going too fast down the street. The sky above is still gloomy—grey clouds woven together to make a solid sheet, the threat of even more rain dangling in them. 

It’d be _cruel_ to have Dimitri head home in weather like this, he thinks, letting the curtains fall shut. 

Izzy finishes her breakfast while Sylvain gathers the ingredients to make theirs. Dimitri isn’t that picky when it comes to breakfast foods. Sylvain’s learned he’s not really picky at all, so long as the texture of the food is palatable. Izzy pines and whines beneath his feet as he goes to get the coffee maker working, ignoring his attempts to banish her, trying to cute her way into getting extra treats and batting at Sylvain’s calves when her attempts don’t go her way.

He busies himself with cooking while nursing a mug of fresh coffee, Izzy’s meows just a white noise to tune out alongside the sizzling bacon. He knows when Dimitri gets up based on how quickly Izzy makes herself scarce. 

Sylvain’s standing at the stove when arms wind around his waist, a face nuzzling into the back of his neck. He looks down to where Dimitri’s fingers lace at his stomach, the sleeves of the hoodie he’s borrowed bunched and weathered. It’s one of Sylvain’s old college sweatshirts, his usual _lazy day_ garb when he’s forced to wear shirts on top of sweats with Claude around. 

The thought of seeing Dimitri in it makes his chest squeeze, heart doing an odd _thump_ within his ribs. He leans back against Dimitri, keeping his eyes on the stove top, lest he risk burning the entire building down.

“He emerges,” he declares, teasing.

Dimitri nips him lightly, moving his head to hook his chin over his shoulder, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “G’morning, beloved,” he mumbles, voice sleep thick, telling Sylvain readily enough that he had dozed off again.

Sylvain’s grinning before he can stop himself. “I made coffee.”

“Mmn.” Dimitri only moves back to hide his face in Sylvain’s shoulder, arms squeezing tighter when Sylvain laughs. “‘s too early. You kept me up too late last night.”

“You _certainly_ weren’t complaining,” Sylvain tells him. “But I do need you to step back—cooking with a human backpack is not the safest.”

With much grumbling and many half-hearted complaints, Dimitri detaches himself, shuffling over to grab some coffee. Sylvain can feel his gaze on him as he finishes breakfast, but he says nothing until Sylvain’s dished their plates up.

“I was thinking dinner tonight,” Dimitri tells him.

Sylvain pauses briefly, setting the plates down and collecting Dimitri’s mug to get them both more coffee.

“What do you mean?”

“Tonight,” Dimitri repeats. “I’ll take you out for dinner.”

_Ah_. Heat rushes through Sylvain, cheeks burning. _A proper date._

He knows the butterflies that flutter in his stomach are nothing short of ridiculous, given everything, but he still feels the nervous giddiness that has no place in their lives. He fills their mugs, nudging Izzy out of the way to settle next to him at the counter, giving Dimitri his best smirk as he bats his eyes.

“Where will you take me?”

Dimitri gives him a narrowed stare, lips betraying his amusement. “I’m unsure. I’ll have to ask Dedue for recommendations.”

“Or—and hear me out—,” Sylvain sits back, lifting his hands, unable to fight his grin at the suspicious stare Dimitri gives him, “—Annie said Felix was taking her out to a fancy place downtown tonight.”

Sylvain has to give Dimitri credit for _attempting_ to keep a smooth face, but his lips twitch. “You want to crash Felix and Annette’s date?”

Sylvain quirks his brows. 

Dimitri does his best to frown. “I don’t think that would be in our best interests.”

“Aw, but it’d be so _great_. The best—so hilarious. We could just randomly bump into them!”

“It wouldn’t be random—“

“Ah, but no denial of it being hilarious.”

“ _Sylvain_.” Dimitri’s eyes narrow. He’s smiling regardless.

“There’s still time to change your mind, y’know.”

Dimitri huffs a breath, leaning forward to brush a chaste kiss against his lips. “Never.”

**.**

**Sylvain [image attached]** Izzy approves of the chair.

Dimitri’s phone buzzes while he’s almost home. He’s completely unsurprised to see a new message from Sylvain, alongside a photo. Throughout most of the day, he had gotten texts and video messages from Sylvain, showcasing his dilemma of attempting to build the chair that Dimiti had ordered, replacing the office chair Sylvain had insisted he didn’t need to with a chair that had _proper_ back support. 

The picture that’s attached with his most recent text is of Izzy laying in the middle of the seat, licking at her paw. The chair sits angled away from the desk, but Dimitri catches sight of the pillow that’s resting in a cleared off space. Sylvain had shown him in multiple video calls Izzy was very intrigued to supervise his work on getting the chair _up to code_. 

He's just started typing a response to Sylvain when another message pops up.

**Sylvain** are you home yet??

**Me** Almost! About ten more minutes.

You can call me now, though, if that's what's wrong!

**Sylvain** nothing's wrong!! I'll let you know what's up soon, promise! get settled in first!

Dimitri hums, sending an affirmation with nothing more than a heart emoji, knowing Sylvain's proclivity towards them. 

He still has a bit of work to do, so instead of changing as soon as he slips in the doorway, he heads to his office. As he quickly gets everything ready on his desktop, his elbow bumps into the board at his desk, jostling photos and a pinned, fake flower that rests above some new additions to his picture collection. The newest one is one Annette had gifted him barely a week before, where she had coerced Felix into letting her take a picture of him, with Dimitri and Sylvain together. Their pose in it is an echo of the last photo he has of Sylvain, his arms thrown over their shoulders, an infectious grin on his face. He had purposely riled Felix up into scowling up at him during the picture, but Dimitri’s eyes land on his own reflected hand, holding snug to Sylvain’s.

He startles when his phone buzzes on his desk. Sylvain’s asked him if he’s settled in properly yet. Dimitri tells him he is, wondering just what he’s planning. Sylvain doesn’t answer for a bit, but Dimitri doesn’t mind. He’s able to pull up his work on his laptop before he receives the next message. 

He reads over the _great!_ for a moment, pondering just what Sylvain’s planning, prior experience telling him to expect a call. What he’s not expecting is for a new notification to pop up, announcing _SlyFoxPlays_ is live. He startles, almost dropping his phone, quickly shoving some of his papers aside to get to his laptop. He knows Felix will be angry, but he exits out of his work to pull up the stream. 

Sylvain’s in the midst of an opening speech by the time Dimitri’s gotten his headphones plugged in, voice barely concealing his excitement. There’s already plenty of people watching, despite it being far earlier than his usual stream time. 

“Okay, okay, hold on, guys, I have exciting news.” 

Dimitri watches as the chat gets intense, new messages popping up with questions and exclamations, guesses to what Sylvain could possibly want to announce. One has Dimitri chuckling, a passive _you’re gonna actually finish the game??_ that goes ignored in the long list of moving text. 

“Alright, whoa, I can already tell you, you’re all wrong.” A pause. “Hey, we are _getting_ to the end. Eventually. It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. Or—whatever.” He huffs a laugh. “No, so a couple weeks ago my chair got busted.” 

Dimitri feels his face heat at the casual proclamation, remembering exactly _how_ his chair got broken. It had still been usable—minus the armrests—and Sylvain had insisted it was fine, but Dimitri is just as stubborn as he is. He just can’t believe Sylvain would announce it in what’s basically _public_. 

“Anyway, it was fine—like the armrests just got broken. _However_ my gracious boyfriend got me an actual gamer chair. With back support!” 

Dimitri’s brain short circuits for a brief moment, ignoring the way that the chat’s messages all pop up with words that his eye can’t process, too busy on hearing the echo of _boyfriend_ crackling in his headphones. 

Dimitri hasn’t asked—hasn’t wanted to ruin what they’ve gotten to with a demand of a definition. He supposes it’s true. Despite their conversation about _themselves_ , nothing has been labelled. Sylvain hasn’t changed how he acts, or how often they talk. The only difference is they go on actual, designated dates, and spend what nights they can together. 

“I’ll post a pic of it after the stream—but that’s the closest you’ll get to seeing my setup,” Sylvain says, voice bright and cheerful. He’s answered a few questions about what kind of chair he had been gifted, different _specs_ that had confused and baffled Dimitri when he had been researching what to buy, all before crawling to Dedue for help. 

His hands fumble as soon as Sylvain starts properly playing, trembling as he collects his phone. He ignores the few messages and email notifications he still hasn’t tended to, pulling up his message thread with Sylvain. He sends a singular word, heart thumping in his chest, threatening to break through his ribcage.

Sylvain’s in the middle of a sentence when he reads the message. Dimitri can tell immediately, the way he cuts himself off, and then _hums_ , softly, before a laugh crackles through his headphones. 

“My boyfriend’s distraught I’ve told people he’s bought me the chair. Or maybe he’s mad I described him as gracious. But he’s also generous.”

Dimitri feels heat burst across his face, burning the tips of his ears. Sylvain continues, tone light and teasing, but the sincerity in his words comes across despite his goal being obvious on wanting Dimitri to melt into an embarrassed puddle at his desk.

“And sincere and earnest. And _super_ good looking, like holy shit I’m so lucky.”

Dimitri doesn’t dare to look at the messages in chat, but Sylvain obviously does, his cackle following shortly. 

“Yeah, he always watches—that’s why I’m doing this, because I’m ninety-percent sure he’s hiding his face in his hands, begging me to shut up.”

Dimitri frowns, hands halfway towards his face at the declaration. His face still burns, but he scoops up his device, sending a simple frown to Sylvain, who replies almost immediately with a pleading emoji next to a heart.

Dimitri’s not immune to his puppy dog eyes, not even in text.

He doesn’t have a chance to send a response before Sylvain claps, the sound echoing through his headphones. He hadn’t truly stopped playing, but he had been meandering, and now seems to have a direction in mind as his character moves across the screen.

“Okay, no more jokes!” Sylvain snorts at his own declaration, adding, “For at least ten minutes. It’s time to get serious, guys, and watch me absolutely suck at this game.”

Dimitri goes to grab his phone, to text a reassurance, reconsidering at the last moment. His hands go to his keyboard, sending a message. Chat’s mostly calmed down, so his message isn’t immediately lost to the void. He pinpoints the exact moment Sylvain spots it, and his username. The fondness in his tone makes Dimitri’s breath catch.

“Aw, no need to sweet talk me, lion. Let’s go treasure hunting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading this far!! the response on this fic was completely unexpected, I was only thinking a few people would enjoy it :’) I really appreciate everyone sticking through it and the feedback, everyone’s been so nice!
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616) if you’d like!


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